


Birds Flying Side By Side

by dell_x



Series: haunt me [2]
Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Historical, M/M, Reincarnation, Soulmates, ancient china n shitttt, implied jeonghan/seungcheol, implied soonyoung/seokmin, or is it ;)), referenced wonwoo/mingyu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dell_x/pseuds/dell_x
Summary: Like most people, Minghao has been waiting to find his soulmate and resume ageing for a while now. When he finally does, he realises that perhaps his wait time has been far shorter than it could have been.Wen Junhui is like a statue, something carved out of marble and placed in a museum, to be admired and not touched, so as to let him stand for the rest of time. But the effect is lessened slightly as Junhui sits in a cafe next to Minghao, crying into his hands. Being reunited with his soulmate after a few years seems nothing in comparison to six centuries.





	Birds Flying Side By Side

**Author's Note:**

> look who finally decided to show up :)) this is long as shit if you've not read the first part of the series you should be okay, although it might help with context n stuff, if u have questions just lemme know. i still feel this is a little rushed but i wanted to get it up asap so here we are. 
> 
> this is like set in a universe where you stop ageing once you turn eighteen, and start again once you meet your soulmate, and kinda goes more into the details and stuff of it, if anything is odd then just leave a comment and i'll try and explain. also i hope the chinese quote i got off of google isn't so shit, also i had a playlist i listened to while writing this n this is it here if u want http://suan.fm/mix/8hUpZVe
> 
> hope u enjoy!!
> 
> edit// i also only just read the lyric translation to My I about 8000 years late and what the shit?? that is a song version of? this shit? so give that a listen too if u want to feel the vibes (mandarin version is King tho we stan Chinaline legends)

_在天愿作比翼鸟,在地愿为连理枝 - In the heavens, we shall be birds flying side by side, and on the earth, we shall be twinned trunks flowering on the same branch._

 

_It’s raining. The bridges that cross the streams in the garden are slippery but Minghao can see Him running anyway. He always moved so slowly, as if through water. It’d been one of the many things that always annoyed Minghao about Him. To have Him just within reach, but taking His time as though to tempt Minghao, to tease him. He’d always liked teasing him. His steps were always calculated, careful, like everything He did, cautious and thoughtful. But He was running now. There was a chance He would slide and crack his head open on the stone, something He’d always warned Minghao of, exasperated yet fond. He was always calling after Minghao as he ran ahead, chiding him as He trailed behind, ever the picture of decorum, always wanting everything to be in balance. Wanting them to forever be equal. Never one too far from the other._

 

_Minghao feels like he ought to call out to Him, to reprimand Him, tell Him to slow down, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is blood. The image is blurring now, be it by rain or something else, but He’s running even faster now, and Minghao can almost hear Him, almost hear him crying out, can hear and feel His footsteps slamming against the path, but the grey scene of rain and the stone is darkening, and try as he might Minghao can’t hold onto the image for long enough to allow Him to reach where Minghao is lying. It’s dark before Minghao can make out the details of His features, but the haze remains printed on the back of Minghao’s eyelids._

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

Grey light filled the room when Minghao woke. He’s out of breath. He stared at the ceiling fan spinning above him, lazy in its turning. The drums of rain lashing against the window told Minghao that today was to be another humid and stagnant ordeal, clinging to Minghao’s skin and dragging him towards the floor. He’d woken up feeling exhausted, and he’d remain that way. 

Minghao’d always had dreams of a similar nature when it rained. Even if the sky was clear when he fell asleep, if there was even the slightest drizzle during the night Minghao would dream of wild things, kaleidoscopes of images and onslaughts of feelings leaving him overwhelmed in the morning. When he was sixteen he’d seen a doctor during the monsoon season about medication to help him sleep, but she’d told him to wait it out. Dreams stopped along with the ageing. He’d be fine soon enough. 

And when Minghao turned eighteen in November it snowed every day, and Minghao slept through every night until March. But then the snow was melted and washed away by rain, and so too was any belief that the dreams would stop purely because the passage of time had. 

He didn't know if he wanted them to. Minghao had never slept well, even during droughts, and it seemed to be something he’d always have to live with. Other dreams felt useless in comparison to the significance of these ones. 

But for all Minghao’s complaining, he did not dread the night. He failed to tell the doctor that he’d anxiously checked the weather forecast every day since he was eight, longing for rain and the chance to chase the images that the rain gave. He failed to tell the doctor that he was seeking medication because he’d started to wake up from the dreams with less of a feeling of curiosity and more that of heartache.

Drawing had been something Minghao had always enjoyed, even when he was younger and his struggles with proportions made everything ghastly. Through persistence and tutorials he found online he was able to get images from his mind directly onto paper. And through this, his more recent aim was realised. He’d fill sketchbooks with outlines of old gardens, of willow trees and flocks of birds. Of hastily remembered features. The profile of a nose, the curve of a wrist, lines of a neck and slopes of a shoulder. Immediately upon waking Minghao would reach for his pencil, etching out everything he could remember in case the memories of the dream became lost to him. But they never did. 

 

This morning however, Minghao was late for work. University had stopped for the summer, but Minghao had opted to stay in Korea, rather than going back to Liaoning, much to his parent’s confusion. He was going into his third year studying abroad, and despite their best efforts to hide it, he knew they liked having him home. But he told them he had to work, and there was a new choreographer at his dance studio that they were all trying to get used to before classes started again. 

These reasons were true of course, and his parents had believed him more than they would've if he’d told them that the main reason he didn't want to go home was because these past few months he’d felt as though someone had reached a hand into his chest and scraped nails down his heart if he ventured more than a kilometre past the city limits of Seoul.

It’d taken time getting used to the hours of his shifts, but Minghao had thought he was on the way to improving, until this morning at least. Minghao barely managed to match his shoes before running out the door, thundering past the ever broken elevator and down the stairs, out into the rain as he belatedly realised he had no umbrella. The rain was heavy, and as Minghao slid his way to the subway station he pulled his jacket over his head, a busted plastic thing he’d had since he was fifteen that he must’ve grabbed in his daze, completely useless with its lack of hood. It'd been oversized when he'd bought it, and still remained loose despite his growth spurts and muscle building on his arms. He realised there was no point in bringing a jacket entirely too late, not until he burst into the station hall and was overwhelming thankful for the air conditioning.

The train ride was as uneventful as ever, and Minghao found himself making it to work only a few minutes late. The place was mostly empty as Minghao came in, and he managed to slow his laboured breathing as he hung his jacket up, shrugging on his apron and trying to calm down. His manager was away for the summer, which meant Minghao was given some slack in regards to his behaviour. 

He ran into Jeonghan on the way out, who’d taken to working the morning shifts so he could be back before noon, when his boyfriend usually woke up. Minghao’d been working with Jeonghan for a few months now, and he’d immediately taken it upon himself to become Minghao’s ‘Korean mother’, texting him to make sure he’d gone home okay, bringing him frozen meals that he swore were simply leftovers, even going so far as to show up at Minghao’s apartment when he’d taken a day off sick. His boyfriend, Seungcheol, had played into it wholeheartedly, jokingly threatening to beat up boys who flirted with Minghao and to take him fishing. At least, Minghao thought he was joking.

“Are you okay Myungho?” Jeonghan immediately greeted, resting his hand against Minghao’s forehead and furrowing his brow. 

“I’m fine hyung,” was Minghao’s familiar reply, and he brushed off Jeonghan’s continued questions with a smile, heading behind the counter, waving at Jeonghan as he left, taking with him his endless nagging for Minghao to phone him more often.

Minghao took to filling up the sugar at the stand in the middle of the coffee shop, almost walking straight into Dahyun as he did it. If Jeonghan was his coffee shop mother, she was the vodka aunt. But instead of looking at him in her usual annoyance, it was concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked, eyebrows flying into her hairline, echoing Jeonghan’s earlier question.

“I’m fine Dahyun,” Minghao said, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. “Why do people keep asking me that? Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” she said, shifting into her usual self and bouncing across to where a customer was waiting, “just your vibe.”

 

Over time, as Minghao grew up, he’d realised he must've often settled into an expression that warranted concern. It started when he was just going into high school, that there would be days when worried older girls and teachers would stop in the hall and ask if he was okay. If his family was well. If something terrible had happened to him. Minghao supposed there must’ve been something in the way he carried himself that made him seem tragic and heartbroken, although he had never been able to find it on his own. Today must’ve been one of those days. The concerned look of the mother with two toddlers on the train, and the unwavering stare of the grandmother selling hair clips and cabbage outside the station made more sense now.

The guys at his dance studio had always said he had a sad way about him. He thought they were just referring to his perpetual resting bitch face. And he supposed, in comparison to them, he seemed sad. He was closest to Seokmin and Soonyoung, and their friend Chan who’d only started a few months ago but had taken over from Minghao as the youngest member of their studio, which Minghao was eternally grateful for. Seokmin and Soonyoung were loud, funny, and utterly made for each other. If there was ever a time Minghao had doubts about the whole ‘soulmate business’, he needed only to think of the two of them for the doubts to quashed. He found it hard to believe they’d only met a few months ago, but then, he supposed that was the nature of soulmates.

Despite the fact that both Seokmin and Soonyoung refused to acknowledge it of course. They acted like soulmates, they talked like soulmates, they kissed like soulmates, they fucked like soulmates, but they still played it off like they were just messing around. Minghao gave it a few more months before any excuses were rendered invalid, but he didn't blame them for not wanting to rush into things. Maybe it’d been something in the past, having to wait a long time to know for sure. Minghao had always assumed you’d know straightaway, but whilst the two of them had always been the type to jump into something without thinking, if you were to take your time with anything, it would be this. 

 

A few hours later Minghao’s thoughts were shaken off of him by Dahyun poking him in the side, her best pleading look on her face.

“Myungho, oppa, I know you hate it, but can’t you take over the orders for a while? My wrist hurts _so much_ from writing, and you know I’ve been wanting to practice my latte art. Please?”

Minghao was too tired to say no.

 

Customers were always kind to him, but the anxiety of spelling someones name wrong, mixing up his formal and informal speech, or mishearing a direction that could lead to an allergic reaction always had Minghao borderline begging to stay next to the espresso machines and the syrup. Hopefully the rain would make the shop quiet enough for it to not be a problem. 

Luck must’ve been on his side, because the next people through the door were easily Minghao’s best customers.

“Haohao!” Mingyu called upon entering, Wonwoo shaking their umbrella out but raising a hand in greeting. “How’s our favourite barista?”

“Tired,” Minghao said in reply, smiling even though it made his cheeks ache as the two of them came to stand in front of the counter, or rather, as Wonwoo stood in front of the counter, with Mingyu behind him, arms around Wonwoo’s waist and his face hidden against his neck. 

“How long until you get off?” Wonwoo asked, not bothering to say their order as Minghao knew it by now, writing it down on reflex, checking the clock on the wall in the meantime.

“Only two hours or so,” Minghao replied, starting on Mingyu’s cup. “we’re closing early tonight, I’ll be out before six. Dahyun’s on cleanup duty anyway.”

“That’s good,” Wonwoo said, smiling warmly, Minghao smiling back without thinking. Already the process of speaking Mandarin had Minghao more focused, less spacey than he had been. Wonwoo was near fluent, and the weight that lifted off Minghao’s shoulders every time they were in was significant in the way that it had Minghao realising it was there in the first place.

Mingyu was more natural, if Minghao had to judge the linguistic abilities of the couple, but in the way that Minghao would only have guessed came from having lived in the country. He had an accent too, a regional one, which would've been odd coming from anyone else. Whereas Wonwoo had learnt through studying, Minghao would've said Mingyu learnt through immersion, in a Southern province if he had to guess. 

But there was a lot to Mingyu that Minghao had to guess. He was friendly for sure, but distant, sticking behind Wonwoo whenever they were in (which was often), and for almost every time they’d come in, Minghao had noticed that there had barely gone an instance that Mingyu wasn't touching Wonwoo in some way.

Through time he’d also learnt they were friends of Seokmin and Soonyoung’s, but despite the four ofthem constantly planning for Minghao to meet the rest of their friends, something had always come up. An unexpected essay due, a switched shift, a sudden cold, even the subway line being blocked. Soonyoung had joked about it, saying fate must be waiting for the right time, and they’d all laughed, but when Minghao told Wonwoo and Mingyu what Soonyoung had said their laughter seemed forced, and Mingyu had been even quieter than usual.

 

“It’ll go by quickly,” Wonwoo said, as Minghao slid their drinks over to them. “it always does.”

“Yeah,” Minghao said, humming in agreement. “but it feels odd today. Like the days dragging on, everything taking longer than usual. And I’ve been feeling nauseous and twitchy all afternoon. It’s weird. I’m probably coming down with something.”

“Maybe you’re waiting for something to happen,” Mingyu said, still behind Wonwoo, words the slightest bit muffled from where his mouth was still pressed to Wonwoo’s neck.

“Yeah,” Minghao repeated, thinking it over. “maybe that’s it. Don't know what for, but I’ll let you know if I find out.”

They said their goodbyes, Wonwoo going over to one of their usual tables in the back and Mingyu trailing behind, looking as much the shadow as ever. 

 

Closing time came, and it was with a badly hidden smirk that Minghao hung up his apron and shrugged on his jacket, leaving Dahyun to tidy up. Despite his gloating, Minghao had still stacked up the chairs and moved the heavy boards in from outside, but he hoped she wouldn't mention it. 

Each step towards the subway station increased the buzzing feeling in Minghao’s spine, and a pressure grew in his head as he walked down the stairs to the platform. By the time he stepped into the crowded carriage there was a tightness in his chest too. There were only four stops between Minghao’s work and his apartment, but the time between each passing station felt twice as long as the last one. Everyone was too close, too warm, too loud, but Minghao still felt cold to his very bone marrow. The noise in his ears was either the train pounding through the tunnels or the blood rushing through Minghao’s ears, but he wasn't sure if it mattered which was which.

 

He almost missed his stop when it came, darting out at the last second, the closing doors clipping the backs of his heels. Minghao stood on the platform, the stairs leading up to the ticket hall in front of him, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He stood until the platform was almost empty, until the roar of trains was quieted if only for a second.

His feet which had seemed leaden only a moment ago were all of a sudden itching, muscles tight, and he bounded up the steps two at a time. On any other day he’d be hoping no one thought him odd for his actions, but Minghao was too focused on figuring out why he was having chest pains and shortness of breath to care, standing at the top of the stairs clutching his chest, looking out over the busy ticket hall and trying to calm down. He couldn’t.

Maybe he needed to go home. He drank too much coffee and slept too little, and all Minghao needed was to stop being foolish and to go home. He started walking, focused and quick, staring at the ground and resolutely repeating to himself that he was being an idiot.

 

The truly idiotic thing was that Minghao wasn't looking where he was going, and walked straight into someone, all the energy in his purposefulness knocking them both to the ground with the force of his intentions.

Minghao muttered apologies through the shock, but it must've been from his previous state of confusion that he couldn't bring himself to move from where he sat, splayed out on the station floor. Minghao raised his eyes to look at who he’d violently thrown to the ground, and found the other man to already be looking at him, mouth opening and closing in what Minghao presumed to be surprise at what had happened.

Better judgement attempted to take over and Minghao shifted as though to stand up, but the other man’s hand shot out, grabbing Minghao by the wrist and gripping tight.

 

“Minghao?” the other man said, and Minghao tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He could feel his heartbeat knocking against his neck. “Hao?”

“Yes?” Minghao said, replying in Mandarin automatically upon hearing his name. He traced the other man’s features with his eyes, wondering how they knew each other, but with each detail Minghao took in the harder and harder he found it to breathe.

The first thing that struck Minghao was how handsome the other man was. How chiseled his features were. How delicate. But as they continued to stare at each other Minghao found himself taking the opportunity to look at every minute detail, the curve of his eyebrows, the bags under his eyes, the slightly raised slope of his nose, the mole on his cupids bow, on the corner of his lips, on his chin.

 

There was a familiarity in each individual feature that had the back of Minghao’s eyes stinging. 

 

“Minghao,” the other man repeated, and at Minghao’s corresponding nod he shifted forwards, onto his knees before Minghao. He raised a shaky hand, bringing it close to Minghao’s cheek but not touching. There was no thought as Minghao raised his own hand to press it on top of the other man's, holding the trembling hand to his cheek.

The man lunged forwards suddenly, throwing his arms around Minghao’s neck, pressing his face to Minghao’s surging chest, still on his knees but bowed forward, clutching the fabric of Minghao’s shirt and shoulders shaking. 

Minghao didn't know how to react, as the other man repeated Minghao’s own name over and over, Minghao certain that the man was crying onto his chest. Minghao did as his gut told him, and pressed the man closer, running one hand through his hair and the other up and down his back, rocking him back and forth. Minghao was distantly aware of the other people around them, of how they parted around the two men like they were a rock in a stream. In their society, Minghao supposed, there were often scenes like this. But Minghao had never expected himself to be part of one.

“You haven't told me your name,” Minghao finally said, gentler than he thought he ever could be, hands on the man's shoulders and putting the slightest bit of distance between them, enough for Minghao to look at the man but not enough for them to be separated.

“Junhui. Jun, if you’d like.”

“Junhui,” Minghao repeated, shaping the name out in his mouth. It was familiar in it’s movement, and Minghao couldn't help but notice that Minghao’s repetition brought new tears out of Junhui’s eyes. “I’m Xu Minghao-“

Minghao’s words caught as he heard Jun speak Minghao’s own name at the same time as Minghao did.

“I suppose we’ve met before.”

“Once or twice,” Jun said, dry and droll in his tone despite it being through tears, and Minghao huffed out laughter, finding his own throat growing tight, “a few years ago.”

 

It took some time to get Junhui to stand, and when he did he leant heavily on Minghao, who helped him walk, half supporting Jun and half embracing him. 

“Maybe we should go somewhere and talk,” Minghao said into Jun’s ear, quietly for a reason unknown to him. Junhui nodded and Minghao found himself smiling, at how Jun’s lower lip shook and how he clutched at Minghao almost desperately. The drumming of Minghao’s heartbeat was still present, but with it now came a warmth, settled in the pit of his stomach like the wick of a candle after it had been blown out.

They walked out of the station, rain still collapsing down onto the streets. Minghao still had his arm around Junhui’s waist, and he felt rather than saw Jun fumbling with an umbrella. Once it was opened he attempted to hold it over them both, given that Junhui appeared to be the slightest bit taller than Minghao, but his hand shook so much he could scarcely hold it steady. Without saying anything, Minghao reached up and took it from Jun. Their hands briefly brushed together and the contact with Jun’s bare skin had Minghao retracting his hand quickly, staring at his feet as they walked and refusing to look over at the other man despite how close they remained.

Minghao’d tended to avoid coffee shops after beginning his work as a barista. He knew fine well what went on in them, and besides, there was no point in paying for coffee when all he had to do was make it himself, or show up when Jeonghan was working and casually mention that he hadn't eaten yet. But Minghao’s steps led him to the coffee shop a few blocks from his apartment, if only so they could sit somewhere warm, and he could force a hot drink into Junhui, who Minghao was afraid would faint if they didn't sit down soon.

 

It was difficult to close up the umbrella while still holding onto Jun, but Minghao managed it. 

“Do you want to go sit down?” Minghao asked, trying to hint that he thought Jun ought not to stand any longer. But Jun shook his head almost as soon as Minghao spoke, and he wasn't going to push him. 

They got in the queue, and belatedly Minghao realised people were looking at them. It was expected, given the fact that Junhui had very obviously been crying. Junhui seemed to pick up on this too, and shifted to lean in towards Minghao, hiding his face from anyone who looked. Minghao tightened his hold around Jun’s waist, allowing him to hide himself further, unexpectedly protective over this man he had just met (it was not at all unexpected, once Minghao thought about it).

The queue moved on and Minghao found himself standing in front of the barista without having spoken to Jun, or even having looked at the menu.

“What would you like?” Minghao murmured to Jun, who was still looking very fragile, his face almost tucked into Minghao’s neck.

“Just tea,” Junhui replied, quiet and scratchy. 

Minghao repeated the request to the barista in Korean, ordering tea for himself too. He went to pay but found that Jun already had his wallet out, handing over the money to the barista and not meeting Minghao’s gaze. He would've protested, but now didn't seem to be the moment to do so. He’d pay next time, Minghao decided, and tried not to dwell on how he had automatically assumed there’d even be a next time. 

They didn't wait long, and Minghao had to remove his arm from around Junhui’s waist to take the tray that carried the pot of tea. Jun made a tiny noise at that, and Minghao had to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling. Jun remained close behind Minghao as they walked, almost standing on the backs of Minghao’s heels. If it was anyone else he’d have been irritated, but Jun’s actions translated as endearing in Minghao’s mind.

 

Minghao set the tray down on a table in front of the sofa bench that ran along the wall of the coffee shop, in the corner so they could remain in relative privacy. He turned to ask whether Jun would prefer the sofa or the chair, but Jun’s expression was so dejected that the words died in Minghao’s throat.

“Is it okay if I sit next to you?” Junhui borderline stammered. “I just want…to be close to you.”

No reply seemed fitting, so Minghao only nodded, sliding behind the table and leaning slightly against the wall, Junhui sitting down next to him. Their thighs pressed together under the entirely too small table, and Minghao found himself staring at Jun’s hands as he went about sorting their tea. They were elegant and thin, long fingers pouring the tea with a grace that held a kind of beauty. Minghao could feel the warmth radiating off of Jun’s body from their proximity, but as Junhui’s hand brushed against Minghao’s, it was cold. Like stone.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so nervous,” Jun said, his voice kept steady with sheer will, not looking at Minghao as he took out the tea strainer from a cup. “I’m usually far more witty and charming.”

“It’s okay,” Minghao said, grinning again. “I’m sure you’ll redeem yourself soon enough.”

Junhui smiled at that, and said nothing else as he slid a cup across to Minghao, taking his own and holding it between his hands to warm them. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to know about who you are now,” Minghao started, raising his own cup. “but why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Junhui set down his cup, and inhaled shakily. He turned to look at Minghao, and Minghao’s focus was immediately centred on Jun, the laughing high school students at the table next to them silenced, the gossiping old women in front of them hushed, the whirring of the coffee machine and greetings of the baristas fading into nothing so that Minghao’s entire world at this moment was solely centred around Junhui. His breathing felt quick and laboured, but Minghao thought that it might only seem that way in comparison to how he’d felt before. He was ageing again. A lot of things would feel different now.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Jun started, almost boring holes into Minghao’s eyes. “but I’m six hundred and fifty-three years old.”

 

“Oh,” was all Minghao said. There was only a brief moment of shock, before the reality set in. Minghao was almost more surprised that he felt barely any disbelief or doubt. Of course, of course this man sat next to him was that old. With a face that ought to have been cut from marble, with grace in his every movement, of course he was timeless. The very way he held himself was evident of an upbringing in a time distant from the current. “does that mean I can’t call you Ge?”

Jun almost choked on his tea, but swallowed it back down, likely not aided by Minghao thumping him on the back.

“No, not at all. Call me anything you like.” Junhui said, shakily sighing, almost as though he was gasping for air. “Y-you used to call me gege…before.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Minghao said, placing his hand on top of Jun’s. His hand was like ice, and Minghao felt his own hand begin to grow colder, but kept it placed there anyway. “What happened? Before?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Jun said, refusing to meet Minghao’s eyes. “It’s a bit much, and we’ve only just met…”

“I’ll have to find out sooner or later,” Minghao replied, reaching over and placing his hand on Jun’s cheek, tilting his head slightly to the side so he would face Minghao. He kept his hand there, brushing his thumb over Junhui’s cheekbone. His skin was smooth despite the stain of tear tracks. “and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“You deserve to know,” Jun said, reaching over to pour more tea for Minghao once Minghao dropped his hand. “it’s as much your story as mine. I hope I can do it justice.”

 

“I’ll get some admin out of the way first.” Jun was fiddling with a thick jade ring on his middle finger, but at least was now sporadically glancing at Minghao. “I was born in the South, around the time the Ming Dynasty was established. My father was a provincial official in what’s now Guangdong, but he was promoted to work under the new Emperor when I was very young. We moved to Yingtian when I was almost three.”

“Yingtian?”

“The capital,” Jun said, pausing to drink the rest of his tea. “it’s Nanjing now. Do they not teach you these things in school nowadays?”

“They probably did,” Minghao said, oddly embarrassed at his lack of knowledge. “I never paid much attention in history. I’d get headaches trying to study it.”

“Understandable,” Jun said, smiling. “you didn't much like studying then either, never did from what I knew of you. I met you for the first time not long after you were born.”

 

_1368, Yingtian_

 

Junhui pushed onto his tiptoes, holding onto the side of the cradle to pull himself up, feet tucked into the carved designs of the wood. He could almost see in, and the baby’s round fist rose up to wave in front of Junhui’s face. If he could hold himself steady, he could reach out to grab the baby’s hand-

“Young master!” Junhui was picked up, placed back down on the ground, away from the baby. He knew he ought not to shed tears, but he still had to bite his lip to prevent himself from crying out. “Be thankful your mother didn't see you. You could've hurt yourself and the baby!”

“Didn’t mean to,” Junhui said, pouting to try and get his way.

“I know you didn't mean any harm,” she said, kneeling down and running a hand through Junhui’s hair. Junhui wasn't sure which one she was, but his mother’s ladies were always kind to him. “Come now, why don't you meet him properly?”

Another lady came over, picking the baby up out of the crib, cradling him in her arms as she sank down on the floor mat. Junhui glanced at his mother before going over; she was still talking to the woman they came to see. She wore a big dress like his mother did, and she had the same sharp pins coming out of her hair. Junhui liked watching the way they reflected the light, sending colourful patterns down onto the floor, but they hurt when he touched them, and his mother would scold him for it. 

But his mother wasn't looking at him right now, so Junhui made his way over to where the other lady was waiting with the baby. He flopped down next to her, careful not to jostle the baby as he leant over to look. The baby was sleeping, and his tiny face scrunched up and settled again. Junhui moved his hand slowly, so that the lady could push his hand away if he was doing something wrong. She didn’t, so Junhui let his hand settle on the baby’s head. His hair was downy and soft, but he had more of it than Junhui had expected. His youngest sister was older than this baby was, but she had still practically been bald when Junhui saw her last. This baby was better than her, and probably was better in ways other than amount of hair.  

“He’s the best baby I’ve ever seen,” Junhui said solemnly, and the ladies laughed. Junhui smiled, happy to have made them happy, though he didn't understand why. 

The baby began to open his eyes, blinking over and over. Junhui moved his hand to block some of the light, in case it was hurting him. His wide eyes focused onto Junhui, and Junhui looked back. His fist was waving in the air, but as Junhui moved to place his hand back on the baby’s head, the baby reached out and caught Junhui’s hand. His hand was tiny, and it seemed smaller than anything Junhui had ever seen before, but his grip was strong as he clasped tightly onto Junhui’s finger. 

“Minghao must like you Junhui,” his mother called over to him. Junhui nodded, knowing he ought to look at his mother when she spoke to him, but he couldn't make himself look away from the baby, not when the baby hadn't looked away from him.

“Minghao,” Junhui repeated, moving his other hand and running his thumb over the baby’s forehead. “Hello Minghao.” 

 

Mother always said Junhui had delusions about things, but he could’ve sworn that the baby was smiling at him. Minghao still hadn't looked away from Junhui, and Junhui had no desire to look away from Minghao. But his mother was standing, and so too were her ladies, so that meant Junhui had to go. There was a physical pain in Junhui’s chest as he had to pull his hand away from Minghao’s, but his mother would call him foolish again if he spoke of it, so he kept it to himself.

“Junhui, say goodbye to Minghao,” his mother called, distracted with gathering her dress and having her ladies sort her hair.

The lady that was holding Minghao seemed kind, her cheeks round and eyes bright, smiling down at him. She tilted the baby towards Junhui, and he leant down, almost eye to eye with Minghao. The baby reached up to grab fistfuls of Junhui’s hair, and while the lady was distracted with loosening his grip, Junhui pressed his lips to Minghao’s head. His hair was soft and it smelled like peaches. 

When Junhui leant back the baby was making the tiniest noises, and it was only when his mother began to leave that he was forced to stand. Junhui waved goodbye, not that Minghao would know what that meant. He supposed he was taking too long, for his mother called for him sharply. Junhui turned to see one of the his mother’s ladies running in after him, and reluctantly Junhui went to her.

As they left, Junhui could hear the baby begin to cry. If it weren't for his mother’s nails digging into his forearm, he’d have ran back.

 

_2017, Seoul_

“It’s not like we were childhood friends or anything, but our families ran in similar circles. I’d see you now and then, at festivals and at the temple. I started working in the Ministry of War under your father when I was eighteen, so I saw you more often after that. You would've been about fifteen?”

 

_1383, Yingtian_

 

Minghao always felt so small, walking through the corridors of the Ministry. Most of the buildings were still under construction, but the War Ministry had been finished first. It felt awfully like starting as you meant to go on, to Minghao anyway. His father had requested his presence today, likely to talk to him about his studies, and even now Minghao was dreading it. 

This certainly wasn't the first time Minghao had been here, despite the fact that he wished he had never set foot in the place, but it was still no easier to navigate. The Ministry was purposely not far from their family home, so his mother had refused him an escort, which Minghao had had no complaints against. But now he was wishing he’d argued, given that he was thoroughly lost. He was contemplating turning around and starting again, or at least asking one of the passing scholars for directions, but as the thought crossed his mind one such scholar stopped and glared at him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here?” he asked, eyes sharp and voice echoing off the tall walls of the corridor. “Do you think just anyone can walk into the buildings of the Emperor? Who are you? What is your lineage? What business do you have here?”

Immediately Minghao froze, for no good reason except for that scholars were terrifying, and this only angered the man further, who seemed as though he was about to lunge at Minghao, drag him off to the guards stationed outside the building, and have him beheaded in the courtyard. He stepped forward and Minghao flinched, trying to force himself to speak, when he heard footsteps echoing off the floor behind him. Minghao shrunk even further into himself, certain that this was yet another terrifyingly serious scholar who wished for nothing more than Minghao’s suffering, but the scholar standing in front of him seemed to stop his movement too.

 

“Master Xu!” the voice called out, accompanied with an arm being thrown around Minghao’s shoulders. Minghao couldn't bring himself to look up, but the arm around him was strong and warm and definitely not his father's. “Your father sent me to find you.”

“Is he angry?” Minghao said on reflex, and he felt the other man’s laughter against his chest.

“Not at all,” the other man said, and Minghao finally looked up. The other man was staring directly at the scholar, who Minghao would say looked embarrassed, given that he was wearing an expression other than anger or neutrality. “The War Minister is a most benevolent and intelligent man, as he has been told by our gracious Emperor. He is only concerned for the wellbeing of his most beloved son.”

The scholar made a small screeching sound, before bowing at the two of them, turning and scurrying down the hall. Minghao held in his laughter, but let it ring freely out into the hall as the other man laughed too. It had taken Minghao only a moment to place the other man, only he had been enjoying the spectacle too much for it to register. Wen Junhui.

 

Junhui turned and began to walk Minghao down the hall, his arm still around Minghao and going an entirely different way that Minghao had intended to go. He wasn't sure when Junhui had begun working under his father, but he was grateful, if not still a little shocked. He hadn't seen Junhui for a while now, and hadn't spoken with him for even longer (if ever), but he was thankful to the other man, and was quickly growing fond of the weight of Junhui’s arm around his shoulders.

In truth, he thought of the other man often. Their interactions were infrequent but always had a lasting effect on Minghao. He would lie awake at night, going over the details in his mind, trying to keep Junhui’s image lingering in his memory for as long as possible, along with the burning feeling in the pit of his stomach and the lack of weight to his head.

“I mean you no offence, and don’t repeat this to your father,” Junhui finally said, leaning close into Minghao to ensure his words weren't heard by any passing guards. Minghao could feel Junhui’s breath on his neck. “but how does one get that lost? Your father is the War Minister, the head of this Ministry, his office is the most important area of the building, and yet you almost ended up in the kitchens.”

“I suppose I was subconsciously trying to delay our meeting,” Minghao managed to say with minimal shake in his voice, and Junhui laughed. His voice was low, and his laugh was again felt on Minghao’s skin. 

“Ah, you’re discussing your academic performance aren't you?” Junhui said, looking down and meeting Minghao’s eyes. Junhui's own eyes were bright and smiling, but his face held the impasse and stillness of one who was yet to resume ageing. “Given your inability to even find his office, would you like me to remain on hand to act as witness for your execution?”

“I can’t even pretend to be insulted,” Minghao said, sighing, unknowingly pushing closer to Junhui who, also unknowingly, had tightened his hold on Minghao. “he wanted me to be a scholar. My brothers recommend the priesthood though, since I won’t be making myself useful around the Ministry.”

“Why not?” Junhui said, and he seemed genuinely curious.

“I’m not sure,” Minghao said, after a moment. “I’ve never been much aware of politics. He must've assumed I’d have no interest in it. Not that I have any interest in anything deemed to be pious either.”

“And what are you interested in, Xu Minghao?”

“Oh nothing really,” Minghao said, ducking down, all of a sudden embarrassed at his lack of dedication. “I like music, and poetry. Fanciful things, nothing relevant or important.”

“Those are very relevant and important,” Junhui said, and his tone of voice forced Minghao into looking back up at him. “Without fanciful things, there would be no point in politics, or war. Life would be dull, and there’d be nothing worth discussing or fighting for. That seems very relevant to me, in my own small opinion.”

Minghao couldn't think of anything to reply, only thought over Junhui’s words and tried to focus on the closeness of the other boy while it lasted. It wasn't for long, and the two almost simultaneously separated as they neared the office of Minghao’s father.

 

Junhui stepped forward, giving Minghao a moment to steel his nerves before moving to stand next to Junhui. He entered first, bowing as he walked, and Minghao followed, mirroring Junhui's action if not for bowing a little lower. It took great effort for Minghao to raise his head, to look his father in the eye and keep his hands from shaking.

His father was not a scary man. He had been kind to Minghao always, had never yelled unnecessarily, had always offered advice when he could. He was rarely home, and the few moments each year that he could spare for Minghao were always happy ones. However, this was not to say that outside of their familial home Minghao’s father didn't strike fear into the hearts of the masses. He was possibly one of the greatest generals under the Emperor’s command, and it was only his sharp intelligence and the Emperor's affections that had placed him in the Ministry as he began to age, rather than remaining on the battlefield until he collapsed. 

“Minghao,” his father said, his hands clasped in front of him as he sat at his desk. Minghao hadn't realised how much older he’d become, but there were the beginnings of lines on his father's face. His voice was gruff but seemed to hold no intention of malice. “I see you had great difficulty in getting here. Your teachers have said much the same of your attendance to their lessons.”

“Yes father,” Minghao said, bowing slightly as he spoke. “I am not dedicated enough. I will work hard to meet the goals you set for me.”

“I have no goals for you son,” his father said, and immediately Minghao dropped into a lower bow, tensing as he prepared for whatever his father had to say, “but that is not to say I have no faith in you. You lack in your studies it is true, but you are not lacking in intelligence. Your calligraphy is strong, and you have great knowledge of the ancient poets. These may not be what I would've preferred for you to excel in, but excel in them you do.”

“Thank you father,” Minghao said, raising out of his bow slightly. His father was smiling, and Minghao dared to glance out of the corner of his eyes. Junhui was smiling too. “I will work harder.”

“If only you could apply that intelligence and brightness to something that there’s a Ministry for,” his father said, picking up the brush that sat on his desk and dipping it in the ink pot, signing his name at the bottom of a scroll. “Does the Ministry of Rites not appeal to you? I hear it’s rather exciting, in a secure sort of way. Your mother has family that work for the Central Secretariat, surely that wouldn't be too taxing? The Ministry of Justice might not be for you, but Public Works is docile enough. Do these not interest you?”

“No father,” Minghao said, seeing no reason to be dishonest “if I become too much of a burden, I am willing to take up the priesthood-“

“Foolish boy,” his father interrupted, trying to hide a grin. Junhui seemed to be having a coughing fit behind Minghao, and had to cross over to the corner of the room to pour himself some tea. “you could never be a burden to the family. Besides, you wouldn't last a day in the temple, and your brothers are not as amusing as you. I’d be terribly bored if you were not here.”

His father paused, rubbing his temples and gesturing for Junhui to pour him some tea.

“Can’t you learn from Wen here?” his father said, gesticulating in Junhui’s direction. He had to dodge his father's arm, and Minghao held back a laugh. “He’s set to become secretary of this Ministry if his father has his way, Minister even, if he manages to get himself into a battle or two.”

Junhui laughed at the words of Minghao’s father, and Minghao forced one out too. But he found he didn't much like the idea of Junhui in one battle, never mind two. He didn't like it at all.

“Minister, if I may,” Junhui said, standing back from his father's desk and lowering his head. “would it not be beneficial for Young Master Xu to focus on widening his general studies for now? After all, one does not know what may change in the coming years.”

“As always you are right Junhui,” his father said after a moment, sighing. Junhui glanced at Minghao briefly, raising an eyebrow when Minghao met his gaze. “we do not know. Maybe you will be fated to an envoy from the far West, and you will be whisked away and we will never see you again. If we’re lucky it’ll be one of the Emperor’s children, although these words do not leave this room. Then you can drink tea and play the guqin to your heart’s content, whilst trying not to get yourself killed. You’ve done well so far in that.”

“May the Gods be benevolent father,” Minghao said with the edge of a smirk, and his father laughed. “I will work to be more filial, and broaden my knowledge so as to best serve you and the Emperor.”

“You’re a good boy Minghao,” his father said, rolling up the scroll on his desk after checking that the ink was dry. “I’ll send word to your teachers to inform them of what we have discussed. Be on your way now, the sun will be going down soon, and your mother will have sent you without an escort?”

Minghao nodded and his father sighed, lowering his head slightly to meet Minghao’s low bow. 

“Wen, show him out, will you? If he gets lost again I doubt the scholars will cope.”

“Father, how did you know-“

His father waved Minghao off and Junhui ushered him out of the room. Whilst the conversation had gone better than Minghao could ever have hoped for, Junhui was oddly quiet as they walked together. He remained close to Minghao’s side however, and spoke up once the maze of corridors began to appear familiar to Minghao once again.

 

“Do you think you will be?” Junhui asked, and Minghao looked up at him in confusion. “Fated to a Western envoy? Or to a child of the Emperor?”

“It’s hard to say,” Minghao said, a little taken aback by Junhui’s question but trying not to show it. “I’ve never met a Western envoy, or many of the Emperor’s children. I always got on quite well with his highness Zhu Quan, and the Princess Anqing has been close with my sisters and cousins since we were children. But I never would've thought it to be any of them. Besides, I have a few years to go yet.”

“How many?” Junhui said, slowing his walk as they further approached the entrance to the Ministry. “How many more years do you have to go?”

“Two, give or take a few months. And you, have you stopped ageing for long?”

“No,” Junhui said, shaking his head and looking at the ground. “it’s barely been one full cycle of the moon. It’s been rather unsettling.”

“Do you think you have many years to wait? What have the priests told you?”

“Not long,” Junhui said, looking back at Minghao and smiling. “not long at all.”

They could no longer pretend they hadn't reached the end of their journey, and Junhui stepped back from Minghao. He only now realised how close they had been standing.

“Will you manage from here?” Junhui said, smile more of a smirk. “You know how to make your way back home?”

“I will manage,” Minghao said, rolling his eyes. Junhui took on an expression of surprise for a moment, before grinning. “thank you, Wen Junhui.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Xu Minghao,” Junhui said, bowing, Minghao following. “I hope to see you again.”

 

With that, Junhui straightened, winked at Minghao, before turning and walking back the way he came. Minghao would've stood for a moment in shock, staring after Junhui, but Junhui paused to speak to a scholar, and Minghao had no desire to interact with any more scholars on this day, so made his exit swiftly. The image of Junhui’s smile overshadowed any degrading thoughts Minghao had about the fact that Wen Junhui had winked at him. 

It was only once he was halfway home he realised that each inch of skin on his body was burning.

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

“Did we speak often?” Minghao asked, after having waved over a passing waitress to ask for more tea. “Were you…fond of me, even then?”

“Fond of you,” Junhui said, tilting his empty cup to watch the dregs slide around the bottom. “that is one way to put it. I’d see you now and then, and we’d make idle conversation. I’d tease you and you’d pretend not to be flustered.”

“Did I just continue to age then? After I turned eighteen?”

“No,” Junhui said, straining the newly arrived tea. “I was away for many months, on a tour around the provinces, assessing numbers of fighting aged men, and other official things that I never cared to remember. I missed your birthday. I didn't expect to be away for so long.”

“I suppose I was upset.”

“Yes, looking back I see that you were.” Junhui said, turning the ring he wore around and around on his finger. “I never apologised. For missing your birthday I did, but not for leaving you. I’ll apologise now.”

 

_1386, Yingtian_

 

Despite the fact that Minghao’s heartbeat had slowed a few months ago, it was almost thudding at his neck as he sat in the library of his home. He’d sent away the servants that kept offering him tea, saying that he felt no cold. There was also the fact that his stomach would likely be incapable of keeping anything down. The sun set earlier than usual at this time of year, and it was beginning to creep down past the city. Soon it would be nightfall, and once again, Junhui had not come back. 

 

‘I’ll return before New Year,’ he had said, in the summer, sheltered under the pavilion in the grounds of the Ministry. They’d been allowed on a walk around the gardens, so Junhui could educate Minghao on the importance of these tours of the provinces. Of course, most of their walk had been spent with Junhui calming an angered Minghao, reassuring him of his return, and convincing him that no danger would befall him. “you’ll scarcely notice I’m gone.”

“I always notice when you're gone,” Minghao had grumbled under his breath, not meeting Junhui’s eyes, for there was surely a smile in them. Instead, he looked out at the thunderous rain, crashing down onto the plants that had been so carefully aligned in the gardens. It likely wouldn't stop for the rest of the day. They’d have to run back to the Ministry buildings. “you’ll miss my birthday.” 

“I’ll bring you back a gift,” Junhui said, his tone teasing, reaching forward and placing his hand against Minghao’s cheek, turning his face back to look at him. “you’re all grown up now Hao. Next time I see you you’ll be all cold and still.”

“Like you?” Minghao asked, trying and failing to dodge the hand that Junhui used to pinch Minghao’s cheeks. “What if I meet my fated one whilst you’re gone? What if I’m in need of your guidance? I’ll not know how to tell who it is.”

“You’ll know,” Junhui said, dropping his hand. “you’ll know when you first see them, that they are to be yours. But in the off chance that you do encounter them before my return, I forbid you from doing anything without my approval.”

“Your approval? You forbid me?” Minghao said, rolling his eyes and ignoring how his skin sharply registered the absence of Junhui’s hand. “What’ll you do if you don’t approve of them?”

Junhui raised his hand and made a cutting motion against Minghao’s neck, who rolled his eyes yet again.

“Thank you gege, whatever would I do without you, I am eternally in your debt,” Minghao didn't think he could make his tone any drier.

“You’re most welcome,” Junhui had said, stepping back and bowing low. He straightened up, and his face took on a more melancholy appearance, and he stepped forward again, closer to Minghao. 

“You’ll come back?” Minghao said, trying to keep vulnerability out of his voice, forcing as much confidence and lack of caring into it as he could.

“I could never leave my little Haohao,” Junhui had said, seeing right through him as always, reaching up to ruffle Minghao’s hair, who for once didn't duck in annoyance. Junhui’s hand stilled in Minghao’s hair, running through it before dropping to cup Minghao’s cheek. “before the year ends. I’ll return. Barely any time at all. I’ll come back with stories and gifts, and you can complain to me about how terrible it is to no longer age.”

“Who says I won't be back to ageing before you return? Who says I won’t have been fated with a merchant and be halfway to Goryeo by the time you come home?”

“I do,” Junhui said, dropping his hand from Minghao’s cheek and grabbing his hand, pulling him down and out from the shelter of the pavilion and running back towards the main building. Minghao didn't think he’d ever seen Junhui run before. Their robes were soaked through by the time they reached the next shelter, but it served as enough of a distraction that Minghao kept the crushing feeling in his chest from overwhelming him until he was quite alone in the safety of his own home.

 

That had been months ago, although it seemed longer. Time ought to seem inconsequential now Minghao wasn't ageing, but it felt the opposite. He felt constantly on edge, each second dragging on for double its worth. He rarely slept, but it wasn’t due to a lack of need. In fact, Minghao was exhausted, his body feeling weighed down and aching yet his mind fully alert, his heartbeat slowed but so, so present. Minghao didn't think he’d ever been more aware of its beating until now.

And he wanted to talk to Junhui about it, to bother him with questions, to doubt his answers, to complain and ponder and discuss. He wanted to hear Junhui telling him that all was going to be well. Minghao knew he had countless siblings, cousins, friends, acquaintances that he could talk to, all who ought to have experienced the same things he had. But it was Junhui’s counsel that Minghao desired most. 

But he had yet to appear. Soon Minghao would have to call for the candles to be lit in the library, but Minghao didn't quite feel up to speaking to anyone. He resolved himself to the idea that Junhui wasn't coming today. This was how every day had ended. Lingering for as long as he could at the Ministry, and then watching from the windows of the library when he was forced to return. 

 

Minghao stood, and made his way out of the library as silently as he was able, so as to not alert anyone to his movements. His cousin had caught on a while ago that he was acting odd, but had received no extra information upon confronting him. In her doting and smothering way, she’d have the servants report on his actions during the day. They could offer no more insight into Minghao’s demeanour than he himself could. Minghao supposed his strange behaviour must be from the sudden change in his state. He knew it’d be different but he’d never expected it to hurt so much.

The cold was sharp as Minghao stepped out to cross the courtyard, his steps hurried as he tried to remain dignified as he borderline ran to the living quarters. It was a bright sort of cold, but unmoving. There were none of his sister’s maids running around, no visiting monks or astronomers, no labourers working on the grounds. Only silence. Minghao slowed his steps to take in the surroundings, to take in the brief moment of solitude.

He found it to be interrupted though, with the harsh sound of horse hooves, signalling an imminent visitor to their home. It’d likely be an official, here to seek his father, who would swiftly turn around upon learning his father had remained at the Ministry. Perhaps a messenger for his mother, or a notice for their head of household affairs. Or maybe, maybe it was Junhui. Minghao felt himself to be foolish to hope, but slowed his steps so as to at least crush the hope, once he lay eyes on the visitor.

Each step came slower and slower until Minghao stood still. His eyes were drawn to the gateway that framed the image of a horse and rider that drew closer and closer with each of Minghao’s breaths. The rider was close enough now that Minghao could make out his face. But he remained unconvinced until the rider crossed into their courtyard, silent now that the imposing sound of hooves was stopped. Minghao remained still, not fully registering the rider until he had dismounted, and stood before Minghao. Junhui’d grown thinner since Minghao had last seen him.

Despite how much Minghao had thought of Junhui during his absence, now that he was standing in front of him, he had no idea what to do. For a moment they were still, and Minghao drank in each detail about Junhui that he’d feared he’d forget. His thick travelling robes, the redness of his hands from both the cold and clutching reins for days on end. His skin, despite the cold weather in the Capital, seemed even more bronze than it had been before his departure. His hair was thick and loose, only the front section tied back, and it framed his face that seemed angular and jagged. But his eyes were still warm and bright, despite the dark shadows beneath them, and Minghao could see how his hands twitched as though out of want to touch Minghao. He was nervous.

Minghao bowed at Junhui, and almost on reflex, Junhui returned it. Immediately upon straightening however, he stepped forward. Junhui glanced left, then right, and then straight at Minghao. He reached down and grabbed Minghao’s wrist, pulling him in until there was barely any space between them. Before Minghao could react in any way, Junhui reached his arms around Minghao’s waist and held him fiercely, their bodies as close as they could be given the thick robes that Junhui wore.

Tentatively, Minghao buried his face in Junhui’s shoulder, reaching up to loop his own arms around Junhui’s neck, and it only prompted Junhui to clutch at Minghao further. Minghao let himself be held, let his skin be warmed by Junhui’s presence, breathed in the sensation of being in Junhui’s arms. His heart was pounding rapidly, his face was heating, and each inch of skin felt like it was burning.

They separated far before Minghao would've liked, but he understood the need for it. Junhui ought not to have visited at all. Their height difference had diminished as the years lengthened, but there was still a slight disparity that had Junhui looking down upon Minghao. His smile was wide, but there was a stiffness to it that suggested the muscles hadn't been used for a long time. Junhui kept one arm tentatively around Minghao’s waist, and despite their thick robes acting as a barrier, Minghao’s skin flickered beneath the contact.

“You’ve scarcely changed at all, Xu Minghao.” Junhui said, and the sound of a voice that was both familiar and forgotten almost had Minghao flinging himself back into Junhui’s embrace. He resisted. 

“The same is said for you, Wen Junhui,” Minghao said, his tone uncaring but betraying him as it cracked upon saying Junhui’s name aloud after so long.

“I cannot linger,” Junhui said, lowering his eyes but gripping tighter onto the fabric of Minghao’s robes. With his free hand he reached into the neck of his robes, pulling out a red string that hung around his neck and had been resting against his chest. “I am already expected at the Ministry. And the weather is unforgiving, and you are unsuitably dressed.”

“You should rest,” Minghao said to distract from the smile that was growing on his face. “what does the Ministry require of you that cannot wait till night has passed?”

“Information. News from the provinces,” Junhui said, and his smile fell briefly, his eyes taking on a cold glint before it passed. “and it is all change in our Ministry. The new scholars are being trained as we speak, to be posted to our offices tomorrow. There are healers from the North arriving, a congregation of astronomers from the East came not yesterday, and in my absence countless posts have been filled and swapped. I cannot delay.”

“Then why do you remain?” Minghao asked, partly accusatory, partly teasing, partly hopeful. 

Junhui said nothing, only reached for the red string around his neck and pulling it over his head. His arm moved from Minghao’s waist, reaching for Minghao’s wrist and pooling the red string into his hand. A ring was hanging from it. It was heavy in Minghao’s palm, but the weight was one of comfort rather than burden. Even the brief glance that Minghao took at it told of its beauty. It was thickly carved jade, inlayed with something that shone in the dying light in a way that made Minghao fear  it was gold.

“Junhui this is…“ Minghao said, but Junhui stepped back, covering Minghao’s hand with both of his own, folding Minghao’s fingers over the ring. The ring was warm from where it had been kept at Junhui’s chest and seemed to burn against the cold of Minghao’s hand.

“I was given all manner of gifts on my travels,” Junhui said, stepping back further. “you can have any of them that you like. This one I found for you, but if it is unsuitable or you desire something more-“

“If you finish that sentence Wen Junhui I’ll never speak to you again.” Minghao said, and Junhui grinned, continuing to walk backwards towards his horse. “Go quickly to the ministry. Meet who you must meet, complete what business you have, and go home. For my own peace of mind. Sleep, for I fear you will fall off of your horse.”

Of all his mother’s gems, his sisters’ hairpins, his brothers’ amulets, the decoration of the High Temple, and the jewellery worn by the Emperor himself, never had Minghao found himself so enamoured with a material thing. Minghao clasped the ring in his hand, the skin of his palm seeming burning hot compared to the cool skin that had yet to be touched by the ring. His skin was stinging from the cold, and Minghao felt vibrations all over his body. His head felt far too heavy. 

As he begun to walk towards the living quarters and away from Junhui, something curled in the pit of his stomach, imploring him to turn around. The skin on the back of his neck heated and the muscles in his legs tightened until he felt he was forced to stop and turn around.

Junhui was still sat on his horse, having yet to depart, sitting tall and regal in the growing mist of the evening. He looked ethereal, otherworldly, sitting there and staring directly at Minghao. He inclined his head in acknowledgment of being noticed by Minghao, turned his horse around, and rode away from Minghao’s home and towards the ministry, rising into a trot and then a canter. 

He rapidly disappeared from Minghao’s sight, and despite his return Minghao felt the pain of his absence as if all the ache of him being away had accumulated his chest all at once. Minghao turned again and hurried inside, already planning out how he would avoid his family, refuse dinner, and go straight to his room. Minghao presumed he wouldn't sleep that night but the moment he lay down he fell into the deepest sleep he had had for months, his aching body finally put to rest. 

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

“Did you not know? Did I not know?” Minghao found himself saying, his hands clasped around his cup. Steam continued to rise from it, warming the already burning skin on Minghao’s neck. “I feel as though I knew as soon as I saw you today.”

“I’m sure you were helped by my dramatics,” Junhui said, and Minghao huffed out a laugh. “and I did. I did know. Once I had time to…look back on everything, there was part of me that always knew, but like so many of us, I chose to ignore it. And we were more careful then. More spiritual, more ceremony to everything.”

“So you wanted to wait to be sure?”

“Partly,” Junhui said, pausing as though even now he was uncertain of an answer. “but it wasn't helped by movement at the Ministry. It was just before the New Year, and that meant huge upheaval. New people were always coming and going, each day I encountered someone I’d never laid eyes on before. And when you came to the Ministry the next day you were introduced to countless individuals. There was no way of knowing whether it was you who caused me to age again, or if it was the astronomer I knocked over in the observatory, or the stable boy who helped me upon my arrival.”

“I’m slightly offended,” Minghao huffed, blowing on his tea. “that you thought it was a stable boy who caused it.”

Junhui outwardly laughed at that, looking at Minghao with fondness.

“You are so like yourself,” he said, going back to shifting the ring he wore up and down his finger, “had I told you then you would've said the same thing. But I guess on some level I thought it couldn't have been you.”

“How?”

“You were a higher rank than me. Your father wasn't much further down than the Emperor, and you were young, and funny, and so lovely. Deserving of someone so much brighter than me. There was an aspect of denial to the delay, and I doubt it wasn't just on my part. We were both scared, and a relationship like ours was accepted but still unusual. And besides, your father could put the fear of heaven in me if he wanted. But knowing I’d found my soulmate didn't stop me from caring for you, even when I was not certain that you were in fact the one who had caused the change. Even if you weren't who I was fated to."

 

_1386, Yingtian_

 

Junhui had only been back for a few days, but he’d resumed his duties almost immediately. Minghao had only managed to pass him in the halls of the Ministry since the night of Junhui’s return. Minghao was upset but he understood. The Ministry was all in a flurry with so many new arrivals, and his father alone was out of his mind with the stress of preparations for the New Year. 

Each year every official and head of department had to greet the Emperor on the final day of the festival, to receive blessings and pass on their own well wishes. Minghao had been told casually in a conversation with some other apprentice that the only reason for Junhui’s early return to the Capital was because Minghao’s father had requested it. His father had dropped into conversation that this year Junhui would be accompanying him as he greeted the Emperor, and the pride that filled Minghao’s chest was overwhelming. This came along with gratefulness towards his father, for being the cause of Junhui’s early return. 

But as Junhui would be greeting the Emperor as a member of the Ministry of War for the first time, much was to be done, resulting in Minghao feeling his absence as sharply as he had when Junhui had been provinces away, if not more so. 

Minghao’s family had been invited to the palace festival that evening, as they had for as long as Minghao could remember. His brothers that hadn't been called to greet the Emperor were sparring in the courtyard with his cousins, and all of his sisters and aunties were playing mahjong to pass the time, as they did every year. Minghao had told them he felt unwell, and had remained in his quarters all afternoon, so as to be well enough upon their visit to the palace. 

It wasn't a lie, that Minghao felt exhausted and achy, yet his hiding away from his family wasn't solely to hasten his becoming well again, but was equally due to the fact that Minghao was afraid that they’d ask him something he wasn't able to answer.

 

Soon someone came to fetch him, his cousin waiting outside and looping her arm through his as they began their walk towards the palace. He let himself be distracted by her idle chatter and let her guide him towards the palace. Despite the fact that it was she who was leaning on him Minghao felt as though he was the one being offered support.

He perked up as they walked, the streets becoming livelier as the music from the palace began to drift down towards them. Once they passed through the guarded gates the music began to surround them, and their pace slowed as Minghao’s family all stopped to take in the sights of the performers and dancers. They were relatively late, the celebrations having started at noon, but his father would likely not have left the Emperor’s hall until mid-afternoon, and they’d be looked down upon to be seen celebrating without their father.

There was scarcely any time to watch the performers before the gong rang out for the feast to start. Minghao followed his brothers blindly as they led their family to where they were assigned to sit. They were in the main courtyard, relatively close to the head table to where the Emperor would sit with his family and all who were associated with them. Minghao’s father was high in status, and Minghao was only made more aware of this fact as he felt eyes tracing his movements as they walked past everyone seated at the lower tables. His father was already sat where they were assigned, deep in conversation with the head of whichever family had been assigned to the space just down from him.

Each member of Minghao’s family bowed low to his father, who stood and gave a shallower bow in response. He stood and moved up towards the top of the table, leaving Minghao to file in after his brothers, closest to the women since he was the youngest of the male members of his family in attendance. Not that Minghao minded, settling in next to his cousin and getting ready to listen to her snide comments that would surely fill the evening.

More and more people began to filter in, and the anticipation of the Emperor’s arrival hung heavy around them all. Minghao felt somewhat relaxed, leaning into his cousin and letting her talk his ear off about something that she’d overheard her maid saying to a kitchen girl the other day. His cousin had always been close to him, her parents having sent her to live in the capital when she was very young, along with the rest of her siblings. Despite their separate education and spending most of their time with relatives of the same gender, they’d always gotten along well. She always seemed to know what was going on with Minghao before he himself did.

Which was why she elbowed him so sharply in the side as the final stragglers came in before the feast began. Minghao turned to glare at her, only to make out a familiar figure making his way over to their table. He bowed to his family and sat down. He sat at the side of the table across from Minghao, and there were only a few people separating them. Minghao only met Junhui’s eyes for a second before he went back to looking at his cousin, but it took only that for Minghao to feel as though lightning had struck him.

 

The feast continued in that manner, after greetings had been made to the Emperor upon his arrival and the food had been served. Eating was leisurely, and the music of the hired minstrels was pleasant but not distracting. Minghao continued to listen to the conversations around him, resisting the urge to look at Junhui at every spare moment. He was unsure as to why he felt so cautious, given that he and Junhui were known to be friends, and no one would find an interaction between the two to be odd. There was nothing unusual about their circumstance, nothing had changed, yet Minghao couldn't stop his neck from heating each time he spared a glance at Junhui.

But when he did, he often found Junhui already looking towards him. The courtyard was brightly lit with torches, and Junhui seemed to glow under their light. He spoke amiably with his family, occasionally being invited to comment on the conversations between Minghao’s sisters and aunts that were sat near Junhui’s family.

 

“Master Junhui,” interrupted one of Minghao’s great-aunts, drawing his attention with her sharp voice and glare, “stop speaking in that dreadful tongue of yours and make us privy to your conversations. Your family is no longer in the Southern Provinces, they have no need to speak in such a way.”

“Ah, I’m very sorry my lady,” Junhui said, bowing slightly. If Minghao were not so afraid of her he would’ve acted on the anger curling in the pit of his stomach. “I can assure you it was nothing of interest.”

“Leave him be auntie,” said one of Minghao’s aunts, smiling across at Junhui. “there’s been talk of the courts enforcing the official language, now will likely be one of the last times a Southern dialect is spoken within these walls.”

“I find the Southern dialects to sound very pleasing,” Minghao’s cousin piped up, oblivious to Minghao’s glare, “wouldn’t you agree cousin?”

“Yes,” Minghao said, unable to stop himself from looking at Junhui as he spoke. His smile became less forced upon noticing Minghao observing him. “they are unintelligible to me, but lovely all the same.”

“Lovely?” his great-aunt said, thin eyebrows raising to her hairline. “Well Minghao, let us hope you are fated to someone whose way of speaking you also find to be lovely.”

“Sister, he is only yet to cease ageing,” another aunt said, allowing Minghao a moment to breathe. The topic of his fated one was cause for Minghao’s heart to take up an odd rhythm. He continued to avoid Junhui’s gaze, “we ought not to force the subject upon him.”

“Quite right sister.” another aunt said. “and we have high hopes for our Minghao. We will make a Minister of him yet.”

“Or failing that, make him the fated one of an Emperor's child!”

There was laughter from the women surrounding Minghao, and he looked helplessly on at Junhui, for solidarity or to share in the exasperation and amusement. But instead he found Junhui to be very focused on the cup of tea in front of him, and he wouldn’t meet Minghao’s eyes. 

“Well as my dear sister-in-law says,” a great-aunt said, causing a chorus of sighs around the table. The words of this particular sister-in-law were commonly quoted around their home. “many of the Emperor’s children are still unfated, including his highness Zhu Quan, who I’ve always believed to be a good match for our Minghao. And as you know, my sister-in-law is the cousin of the husband of the Empress’s advisor.”

“Really Auntie? I never knew. You must not have ever brought it up before,” Minghao’s cousin said. Minghao almost choked on his tea.

“There’ll be no harm in introducing them,” someone said, and more laughter was shared around the table. 

“And what of you, Master Junhui? You are still not ageing, even after your extensive travels?”

“No, my lady,” Junhui said, and despite Minghao’s own knowledge, hearing the words come out of Junhui’s mouth lifting a crushing weight from Minghao’s bones that he was unaware of until just now.

“And no one at the Ministry has drawn your attention?”

“No, my lady.”

“Well I suppose you could be unaware of it,” one aunt said, scrutinising the faces of every non-ageing person in the vicinity. “with so many comings and goings at the palace at this time of year, one could remain quite unaware of who has caused their ageing to begin again for quite some time.”

“Perhaps they ought to stagger it,” Junhui said drily, although Minghao was unsure if anyone else was aware of his tone. “to prevent delays in the course of fate.”

“Why don’t you pass this suggestion on to your sister-in-law Auntie?” Minghao’s cousin said and Minghao actually choked on his tea this time, unaided by her enthusiastic thumps on his back.

 

The feast finished without much more circumstance, and Minghao slipped away with his cousins to wander through the grounds of the palace, which were filled with countless acrobats, musicians, fire eaters, and dancers. Almost everywhere one looked there were puppet theatres set up, stalls selling food, and lanterns being sold to be taken and set free.

His cousin led him up and up the steps, through the crowds and to the highest point of the grounds. Behind them stood the great tower which held the observatory, and Minghao couldn't help but smile at the thought of how perturbed the astronomers would all be at the sight of hundreds of people at their doorstep. 

It was here that his cousin led him over to a stall selling lanterns. She chose them out and pressed one into Minghao’s hands as he waited with the money, mind elsewhere. As they’d walked he found himself scanning each face, looking around him as best he could to try and catch sight of Junhui. He was nowhere to be found, and yet Minghao looked at everyone, at the children and at the street vendors, at the musicians and at the calligraphers. He even found himself examining the legs of the men who walked with the dragon costume, in case Junhui had somehow ended up in their numbers.

The young girl selling the lanterns nudged Minghao, prompting him to pass over the money. But when he looked to his cousin he saw she had left, taking her lantern with her. The girl offered no hints about where she had gone, and Minghao sighed, already dreading having to push through the crowds to try and find her. 

“What’s a nice young boy like you doing alone on a night like this?”

 

Junhui kept his tone casual, his expression amiable as Minghao turned around. But as Minghao stammered out a response one of Junhui’s hands placed itself at the small of Minghao’s back, guiding him away from the watchful eyes of the lantern seller and towards the area where calligraphy brushes were laid out, for visitors to write their wishes for the new year onto the lanterns. 

“I’ve lost my cousin gege,” Minghao finally managed out, letting himself be guided, leaning against the table and watching Junhui pick up the brush. Junhui nodded, making an understanding noise in the back of his throat, focused on the task at hand.

His movements were languid as he wrote, beautiful in that odd way of his. Minghao realised he ought to avert his eyes. After all, hopes were a private thing. But rather than avert them, he focused on the light grip Junhui kept on the handle, and tightening muscle in his wrist. He’d slid his sleeves up slightly, to prevent them from getting stained. The slightest bit of skin was revealed, golden and smooth. Junhui’s veins were visible under the candlelight, standing out starkly against the slightly paler skin of the underside of his arm.

Forcibly, Minghao shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in, holding his lantern steady with one hand and reaching over Junhui to pick up a dry brush. Minghao missed the way that the hair on Junhui’s arms stood on end as the sleeve of Minghao’s robe traced against the sensitive skin under his wrist.

He turned slightly, conscious all of a sudden. Minghao knew he could trust Junhui, and he wouldn’t vocalise any judgement, if he had any. But still, this felt like something he ought to keep to himself, close to his heart. 

When Minghao was done, he turned to see Junhui standing there expectantly. He felt his cheeks heat slightly at how Junhui had been waiting on him, but ducked his head down to avoid attention. Junhui only smiled however, unable to place his hand on Minghao but standing close as they walked, the side of his chest almost pressed against Minghao’s. Minghao paid no mind however, too preoccupied with the realisation that he had in fact been blushing.

Perhaps it was just being so close to the candlelight, compared to the night air which was now sharp and cold. He was preoccupied, and almost would've kept walking until he walked straight into the wall if Junhui hadn't said his name in that quiet, steady way of his.

Neither of them spoke, only smiled each other, Junhui lighting his lantern from the candles that stood along the wall that was the only thing keeping Minghao from toppling off the edge of hillside. His knuckles were white as they held onto the stone. Minghao took the candle from Junhui with shaky hands, and tried his best to light it quickly, for Junhui’s own lantern was being forcibly held down. Junhui wanted to set them off together. 

They let go at the same time, as Junhui counted down quietly under his breath. The lanterns floated up and outwards, carried by the wind that had yet to grow strong enough to pain them, but was still present. Hundreds of lanterns were being set off, but Minghao kept his eye on the two of theirs. They stuck close to each other, bouncing off one another and separating slightly, before moving back together only to be forced to separate again. 

The lanterns grew smaller and smaller, and eventually Minghao lost them to the thousands of other lanterns that were going off into the night. He and Junhui still stood there however, close together in a way that Minghao could put down to the heaving crowds, and not down to the pull he felt whenever Junhui was close.

 

From this distance Minghao could barely see any of the lanterns, let alone what was written. But he couldn't help having seen Junhui’s writing. It had flickered and moved with the wind, but Minghao couldn't look at a word and not allow it to register as his brain read it. It was involuntary, it was inevitable. It was in the same way that Minghao’s eyes found Junhui no matter how many thousands of people were around them.

For all the time it had taken him, Junhui had a single word written on his lantern. _Peace_.

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

“You fell in love with me?”

Junhui took a moment to process what he’d just said, and then to process what Minghao just said. He placed his cup down, and turned to face Minghao, a smile plastered on his face, his left eye twitching.

“Well, in a way, looking back and with hindsight, I suppose, if one was to label it-“

“We were soulmates gege,” Minghao said softly, pouring the last of the tea into Jun’s cup and making eye contact with the girl on the counter. She nodded, turning to prepare another pot of tea. She’d surely have questions after, which Minghao wasn't sure he could answer just yet. “I’d be more upset if you _didn't_ fall in love with me.”

“I don’t know if I could say that though,” Junhui said, sipping his tea quickly, obviously wanting to elaborate but still seeking to preoccupy himself with the tea. “I mean, there was a moment it changed into something I was more aware of, and a moment I realised. But there was no falling for you, it always felt more like a lifelong thing. In some shape or form, at one point or another, be it in a distant way or a…very present way.”

“Did it take horrendously long to realise? For you and for me?”

“Well, define realising,” Junhui said, laughing slightly with little humour. “because even if I knew, telling you was a whole different ordeal. I’m sure you knew early on as well, you were always very smart, in your own way.”

“It seems there are differences between the two of us after all,” Minghao said, snorting, nodding a thanks at the girl as she brought over their third pot of tea.

“Don’t say that,” Junhui said sharply, startling Minghao slightly. He immediately started to backtrack, losing all ferocity as he turned pink. “not that there shouldn't be  differences, that’s totally fine, you’re different people and I get that. Just…you are smart Minghao. Don’t put yourself down.”

Minghao nodded, not wanting to from an answer, opting to position the tea strainer in the pot, watching the steam intently.

“To answer your question though,” Junhui said, after a beat had passed. “it wasn't horrendous. It felt far longer than it was, as many things do, but in actuality it was only a few months. My heart tells me we’d both realised by the Spring.”

 

_1387, Yingtian_

 

Over the past few months, Minghao had grown more and more grateful towards his father. Now that Minghao was supposedly not ageing, finally reaching what was seen as maturity, his father was pushing for Minghao to learn more about where he would likely end up working. Therefore, Minghao was being urged to spend more and more time at the Ministry. And more time with Junhui.

Like this particular afternoon, when his father had met with other officials at a nearby government office. Minghao had been forced to tag along, but due to the weather now fully taking a turn for the better, each man had agreed that it would seem ungrateful if they were to remain stifled in the office buildings. With great rush and circumstance, the men decided to walk to the nearby gardens, where they could sit and discuss war in peace. 

A detour had been made along the stretch of river that ran through the city, the men leisurely talking as they walked, servants running alongside them in a manner that was not quite as calming. Minghao trailed at the back, having heard quite enough military jargon for one day, but was soon accompanied by Junhui. Both of them had yet to speak, and Minghao wasn't quite sure what he ought to say.

He knew he couldn't open with, ‘I think you’re my soulmate,’ for even Minghao knew that wasn't the done thing. If anything, he’d expect Junhui to say something, since he was older and had always been the more forward of the two. The fact that he had yet to speak was the main argument for Minghao simply being infatuated with Junhui, not fated.

His heart was the counter argument. 

 

Further down the river was the red light district, with brothels and food stalls and street vendors spilling out onto the road. Minghao could make out the distant shape of boats adorned with lanterns and banners settled on the river. It was peaceful here however, a light breeze skirting over the water and keeping them cool as they walked. Willows hung over the river, barely grazing the surface, as well as the cherry trees that were coming to the ends of their lives. 

The petals fell readily, shifting in the air, and the surface of the river was dusted pink with the discarded flowers. Minghao watched them fall, rather than look at Junhui. Minghao was worried he’d appear rude, but was far more concerned about keeping his breathing at a steady rate. He was already failing at that. His skin burned, and the muscles in his neck seemed to contract, begging to be allowed to turn to look at Junhui. Minghao resisted.

It was only when Minghao felt Junhui reach out to brush a petal from Minghao’s shoulder that he had to turn. The sight of Junhui seemed to blind Minghao, the sun bright, and glaring Junhui into focus. He almost stopped walking, so affected by the image of Junhui, but Minghao forced his feet to continue moving. The desire to get even closer to Junhui was almost overwhelming, like his whole presence always was. 

 

“Are you enjoying the walk, Master Xu?” Junhui asked, his voice as steady as always, and the sound of it brought comfort to the depth of Minghao’s bones, to the pit of his stomach.

“The weather is so lovely,” Minghao replied, his voice shaking, betraying his nerves. “as are the trees.”

“And as is the company,” Junhui said, and Minghao couldn't help but let out a single burst of laughter, coupled with heat rising in his chest. “but it is tragic how fleeting it is.”

“The trees or the company?”

“Both,” Junhui stated, and Minghao forced his eyes to stay connected with Junhui’s. They brought everything into focus, steadying Minghao’s horrendously thundering heart and making everyone around them seem clouded in comparison.

“Do you find me to be fleeting gege?” Minghao said, thankful that a life of sarcastic remarks had meant his mouth was capable of forming a retort, even when his mind was blank to all but Junhui’s eyes.

“No,” Junhui said, leaning in the tiniest bit closer to Minghao, their hands brushing against one another. “but I find you to be far less constant than I would like.”

“Surely you are tired of me?” Minghao asked, trying to accept the feeling of their hands touching. Junhui’s robes were cool to the touch, his skin less so. They were distanced by the solid rings they both wore, and despite the fact that Minghao had worn the ring Junhui had given him since the day it came into his possession, at this moment Minghao despised everything that separated Junhui from himself.

“Quite the opposite,” Junhui said, smiling as he said it, but Minghao felt as though Junhui perhaps wasn't teasing this time. 

“Prolonged exposure may change your mind,” Minghao said lightly, dropping his eyes to the ground. 

“It hasn't done anything of the sort thus far,” Junhui replied, drawing Minghao’s eyes back to him. “and besides, your absence only makes me fonder of you.”

“I am glad to be subject to your affections gege,” Minghao said, grinning. “but am I foolish to hope that I won’t be absent from you again?”

“Yes,” Junhui said. “but you are always foolish. It only heightens my liking towards you.”

“Are you angling for me to say the same of you?” Minghao asked, knowing full well he could say he liked Junhui, he could say so many things about how he felt about Junhui that sometimes he felt as though he were choking.

“It would be nice,” Junhui admitted, purposely knocking into Minghao’s side.

“Many things are nice. Myself for instance.”

“You are many more things than simply nice, Xu Minghao,” Junhui said, and Minghao’s heart made such a great thud that there was no way that Junhui could remain unaware of it, remain unaware of Minghao’s feelings. “foolish being one of them.”

“So am I a fool? To ask you remain at my side?”

“Yes,” Junhui said, his voice coming out almost as a gasp, an inhale, a cry. “for some of these things remain out of my hands.”

“And in the hands of the Gods?” Minghao asked, and he wasn't simply asking that question, but was asking for confirmation, was begging for some sliver of information that would form some answer to whether Minghao was idiotic, or whether Junhui felt even a portion of the same thing that Minghao felt for him.

“There are things that will have more of a say than the Gods,” Junhui said, as vague as ever. “the Ministry for example.”

“And what say you Junhui?” Minghao asked, pressing on for answers. “What does your heart want, outside of the will of the Gods and the Emperor and my father?”

“My heart?” Junhui asked, pausing as though his heart was an afterthought, something which he had never thought he’d be allowed to consider. “My heart goes wherever you go Minghao."

“Don’t tease me,” Minghao said, forcing a smile, unsure of whether it was disappointment, disbelief, or hope that was running dominant right now.

“I would never. I suppose I have brought this on myself,” Junhui said, tilting his head back, exposing his neck. His muscles twitched as he swallowed, and Minghao followed the movement with his eyes. “how can I expect to be taken seriously with a face like this?”

“Even the beautiful must go through hardship it seems,” Minghao mused, catching on his words after he’d spoken.

“You find me to be beautiful?”

“Objectively, yes.”

“And personally?”

“I find you to be a difficult person Junhui.”

“The day my Hao answers a question directly will be the day he dies,” Junhui said, reaching out to pinch Minghao’s cheek. Surely now, Junhui would feel how he heated at his proximity, surely now Minghao’s heart would finally be betrayed.

“You’re teasing me again,” Minghao said, words distorted from how Junhui still pulled at his cheek.

“I do no such thing,” Junhui said, releasing Minghao’s cheek and running his thumb across the reddened skin. Up ahead, the gardens began to approach. The Ministers would call for Junhui, and he’d have to leave Minghao.

“You’re needed with the Ministers,” Minghao said, not meeting Junhui’s eyes even as Junhui tilted Minghao’s face to face him.

“They are far less lovely compared to you,” Junhui said, dropping his hand and sighing. “we’ll speak again?”

“Of course,” Minghao replied, trying not to let his confusion show. “I see you most days.”

“And yet I miss you every time you’re not in my sight,” Junhui said, Minghao almost collapsing at the statement. Junhui seemed unaffected. “let me see you, soon, for I can’t bear being without you Minghao.”

“Stop being dramatic and go to my father before he notices you’ve been gone all this time.”

“I mean it Minghao,” Junhui said, beginning to walk away, “all of it. I always seem to have things to say to you that I never quite get the chance to.”

“We have time,” Minghao said after him, watching as Junhui faltered at that, turning to look back at Minghao. “but I’ve always been impatient.”

Junhui grinned, turning and quickening his pace, almost completely disappearing amongst the officials, leaving Minghao to trail behind again, looking out over the willows and the river and the cherry trees, and finding that despite their loveliness, everything seemed for naught without Junhui.

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

“Why couldn't I tell you?” Minghao questioned, raising his cup to his lips but missing his mouth, too distracted by how Junhui’s lips curved around his spoon. “Why couldn't I speak first?”

“I was older,” Junhui said after a moment passed. “it was tradition. And I suppose you were nervous, in case you were wrong. You pushed through it and seemed so sure of yourself, but you were always a shy little thing.”

“Why did you take so long?” Minghao asked, to distract from the fact that Junhui knew him, knew the depth of Minghao’s past incarnate and of Minghao’s current self, of how Minghao had buried any unease he ever felt under swathes of bravado and sarcasm.

“Again I wanted to be sure, in case things went awry,” Junhui said, words slow and deliberate. “and there was the looming presence of your father.”

“My father?”

“He was my superior in the Ministry. It would make work a little awkward, and once it was known I’d found my soulmate- things would change. Even if it wasn't you I would likely have to inform him anyway.”

Minghao found he didn't like the idea of it being someone who wasn't him.

“It’s not like anyone could’ve done anything about it. Legally they couldn't keep us apart, but there was the worry that I’d have you cast out or disowned. It was rare, but it happened. Usually when a noble was fated to a gardener or kitchen maid, but it was still a worry.”

“Cast out? For being your soulmate?”

“Well,” Junhui said, his voice tightening. “after we declared it, and everything was checked at the temples and the religious ceremonies were over…we’d be expected to get married. Or something of a similar nature.”

“Married?” The idea of being married to Junhui was one that hadn't crossed Minghao’s mind (given it’d barely been three hours that they’d known each other) and he found his heart filling at the thought.

“Yes,” Junhui said, staring into his cup. “and since I was below you socially, it’d be accepted, but understandably your family would've been hoping for someone better.”

“There’d be no one better,” Minghao said reflexively, and the way Junhui looked at him stirred up dregs of sadness in Minghao’s chest.

“Nevertheless,” Junhui continued, forcing a smile. “there were things that applied to you that did not apply to me. And things that I had to do that you did not.”

 

_1387, Yingtian_

 

The rain came early that year. Even before the cold seemed to leave and the heat arrive, the rain was already falling in thick torrents, sliding down buildings and collecting in the pathways, soaking the edges of Minghao’s robes.

For the past month or so Minghao’d been focusing on his studies, his tutors coming to his home and working in his family’s library. Today however, his father had wanted him to familiarise himself with the ever expanding library in the Ministry. A scholar had met Minghao upon his arrival and Minghao had followed him blindly. An afternoon spent in the darkness of a library detailing military tactics, legal systems for conscription, and recounts of ancient battles was not one Minghao would’ve chosen for himself, but knowing that Junhui was somewhere nearby sent shocks down towards his fingertips.

Of course, a point arrived where Minghao couldn't stand it anymore, and granted himself freedom, leaving the library and attempting to leave the Ministry. However, Minghao had focused far more on trying to catch a glimpse of Junhui as he was first led there, and so now had no idea where he was, or how to leave.

In his experience, if Minghao wandered around for long enough he’d come across an exit, or at least someone that would direct him towards one. So Minghao began to meander through the corridors, hoping he’d come across something significant.

 

“Xu Minghao,” someone called out, drawing Minghao’s attention away from where he was trying to decide if something was a door or a window. Minghao’s body turned before his head picked up on it. “do you intend to be so near the stables?”

“Yes,” Minghao said, wanting to save face, knowing that Junhui was completely unconvinced. “I’m simply…familiarising myself with the different roles played within the Ministry.”

“Of course,” Junhui said, nodding, coming closer to Minghao and increasing Minghao’s pulse with every step he took. “as every diligent student should.”

Minghao’s skin warmed as Junhui placed a hand on Minghao’s back, guiding Minghao in the completely opposite direction. Neither of them made any move to speak, but Minghao allowed himself to go wherever Junhui was leading him.

 

He had enough sense however, to realise that it was not to the entrance hall that which they were headed. Sure enough, Junhui led them both through an archway, leading out to the gardens. The construction had been completed only a few months before, and the stone was shining under the sheen of recent rain. It’d start again soon. 

Junhui kept a grip on Minghao’s arm, partly to guide him towards the shelter of a pavilion overlooking the lotus pond, partly to prevent Minghao from slipping on the stone walkways and bridges that they had to cross to get there. The rain began to leak downwards again as they reached the steps, Junhui placing a hand on Minghao’s back to guide him upwards.

They knelt facing each other, in the way that would be expected for two people meeting in a place like this. What wouldn’t be expected was the closeness, how their knees were just barely touching, how if Minghao leant just the slightest bit forward Junhui’s face would be so close to his own, how Minghao could almost feel the rise and fall of Junhui’s chest and could make out the scar on his cheekbone and the way his right eye was set deeper than his left and how just above his cupids bow there was a freckle-

“Hao,” Junhui said, and at the sound of Junhui’s voice Minghao’s stomach lurched, forcing him to sit back from where he inadvertently had been leaning into Junhui. “I don’t know how to put it in words. If I need to.”

“Put what in words gege?” Minghao asked, knowing fine well what Junhui meant, but slightly jarred by Junhui’s bluntness, if he was indeed talking about what Minghao hoped he was. Better to get the formalities out of the way. It'd allow for Minghao to be closer to him all the sooner.

“You know what I mean,” Junhui said, taking Minghao’s hands in his own, the warmth soft against Minghao’s hands. Junhui always seemed to know what Minghao was thinking. “I considered speaking to your father first, but to tell the absolute truth, I’d be too afraid to do so without you by my side.”

“Say it. Tell me Junhui.”

 

“You’re my soulmate, Xu Minghao,” Junhui responded, and the words came out like a gasp. “You are my soulmate, and I am yours. Now and forever.”

 

“Well when you put it like that,” Minghao said, trying to keep his tone light but his eyes itching like they would fill with tears imminently. “it does sound rather dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Junhui repeated, huffing out a breath of laughter. “Minghao, my love, I wish this were dramatic.”

“What are you referring to?” Minghao asked, something pooling in his stomach that couldn't be quelled with the rush of warmth that came from Junhui calling him “my love”.

“I cannot talk my way out of this one. I cannot use flowery language and smiles to make this seem better than it is.”

“What Junhui?” Minghao asked, feeling as though something small and sharp had lodged itself in-between his ribs. Minghao tried not to breathe, for every time he did the pain grew larger and larger.

“You know we are going to war.” Junhui stated, and Minghao swallowed. Yes, he knew they were going to war. It was imminent, it was expected, and it wouldn’t affect Minghao. The impact on his country would be large, but for Minghao personally, not much would change other than his father being more absent and more tension in the palace. In his high position of nobility, Minghao was exempt from conscription.

 

“What of it?” Minghao asked, and Junhui choked.

“I’m going to war Minghao.”

 

The rain was pouring now. The sound of it thundering on the roof was all that filled the air for a moment.

 

“No, you’re not.”

“I have no choice,” Junhui said, his voice cracking, his hands suddenly tightening from where they had still loosely held Minghao’s. “I’ve been placed in the leading regiment, we’ll leave within the month. I was placed there by the Minister himself. I cannot say no.”

“I’ll speak to him, I’ll say something, we can tell him that you…that you’re sick, or that you…that you…we’ll think of something. You can’t, not when- not when we’ve just-“

“I have to,” Junhui said, his hands like a vice around Minghao’s. They leant close to one another, but neither noticed. “I’ll be conscripted whether I like it or not, be it in the infantry or with the Generals. At least this way, I can get experience in battle tactics. Move up the ranks in the Ministry. Gain a position worthy of you.”

“Don’t say that, don’t act like you’re not good enough for me. The only good in me comes from you. You can’t go, I’ve heard what it’s like, I’ve listened to the stories all my life, regiments just going off to battle and getting slaughtered, they say this war will be nothing but a massacre, you can’t-”

“Don’t worry yourself my love,” Junhui said, raising Minghao’s hand to his mouth and pressing his lips to Minghao’s fingers. His hand was shaking. “fate will surely not be so cruel, to take me from you even before we’ve been presented before the Gods.”

“Damn fate!” Minghao said, ripping his hand away from Junhui’s hold, standing up and running his hand through his hair. “I won’t let them take you from me, not now, not so soon.”

“It’s hardly soon Hao,” Junhui said, his voice still calm, only a hint of emotion seeping into it. The steadiness slowed the rapid pulse of blood through Minghao’s veins. “surely you’ve known for a while now.”

“Have you?” Minghao said, sinking back onto his knees, so close to Junhui now, immersing himself in the tone of Junhui’s voice.

“I feel as though I have known my whole life,” Junhui said, and Minghao only managed to force out a broken noise in response. “but practically, it is reasonable that it has taken time for us to find out.”

“We won’t have time,” Minghao said, his pulse sharp behind as his eyes as he looked down at the ground, his mind as turbulent as his heartbeat as he tried to salvage a solution. It wouldn’t happen. It won’t happen. Minghao wouldn’t let it. “before you leave, we won’t have time to tell our families, and present to the temple. The ceremony will require preparation, my mother ensuring that it will be sickeningly elaborate. And then your family must travel from the South, and then we’ll have to present to the Emperor…"

“And after all that is done, I will be sent to war Minghao,” Junhui said, his voice soft, reaching a hand up and weaving his fingers into Minghao’s hair. “it is inevitable. Best to get it over with now. We can have a small ceremony, present to the Gods, and have a celebration if I return-“

“When,” Minghao said sharply, raising his eyes. “when you return.”

“The only requirement is to the temple,” Junhui said, not commenting on Minghao’s interjection. Minghao felt sick to his stomach. “to allow the monks to ensure we will meet in the next life. They can do that quickly before we leave, because if I don’t return-“

“Stop,” Minghao said, his voice barely audible. He leant his head down, resting his forehead against Junhui’s shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Junhui’s hands traced patterns on Minghao’s back. “stop. Don’t speak of such things.”

“You said yourself it was a death sentence,” Junhui retorted, and Minghao felt him laugh lightly.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Minghao said, bringing his arms forward to wrap around Junhui’s waist. “I won’t let you. We can fake your birth notice. Have you join the princely guard. Father said they do nothing but drink tea and play mahjong in their tents.”

“Is that what your dear Prince Zhu Quan will be doing?” Junhui asked, the slightest edge of bitterness in his voice. 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Minghao said, his words muffled, and Junhui laughed again, pulling him closer. Minghao hid his face in the fabric, afraid he would start crying.

“Good,” Junhui said, pressing his face down to rest in Minghao’s hair, burying his nose in it.

“I won’t let you go,” Minghao repeated, his voice on the edge of breaking. “I’ll find a way. You know I will. I believe I am someone who doesn't deal very well with not getting what I want. I’ve never wanted anything except you.”

Junhui didn't say anything, just pulled Minghao closer to him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. The rain only grew heavier outside.

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

Junhui had to pause for a moment, his eyes not raising from the table. He seemed focused on the wooden surface, his eyes tracing the curves and the scratches carved into it. It was only when Minghao had the courage to refill Jun’s cup that he lifted himself from his reverie.

“So you were conscripted,” Minghao said, trying to prompt more information from Jun. He had heard Jun’s words, but he still didn't understand, why things had to be like this, why he couldn't have done anything. “and I wasn’t.”

“Yes,” Junhui said, his voice contemplative. “due to you being higher in the nobility. I likely would've had to join even if I was nobler anyway, because what good is a worker in the Ministry of War if they’ve never experienced a battle?”

“What war was this?” Minghao asked, and even though he was certain he wouldn’t know it, it wouldn’t stop him from going home and spending a few hours reading up on it.

“The Ming campaign against the Uriankhai,” Junhui said, looking across at Minghao and smiling slightly, as though aware that these words meant nothing to Minghao. “we were still in the very early years of the dynasty. Times were uncertain.”

“And what did you mean, about presenting at the temple, about trying to delay your leaving?”

“It is hard to convey how spiritual we all were,” Junhui said, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “it wasn't like now, where you meet your soulmate and that’s mostly it. You’ll know the law in China, where you have to fill out a form to tell the government that you’ve found your soulmate? Imagine that, but infinitely more. We believed it to be the truth, the only truth, absolute truth.”

“We would've had to…get married, before you left then?”

“You could call it that,” Jun said, pensive. If Minghao hadn't been looking so intently at him, he would've missed the fact that Junhui was abashed. “in normal circumstances, we’d be blessed at the temple, and then present ourselves to the Emperor. After that, there’d be parties, dinners, banquets, for family and friends and colleagues. We’d meet with everyone we’d ever met in our whole lives, and then some. It was hugely significant, especially given your position. But the only bit that was truly viewed as necessary was the blessing, the rest of it was all showing off.”

“What was so special about the blessing?”

“It was a religious ceremony to tell the Gods that we had found one another, and to ask that we would be reincarnated together,” Junhui explained, his voice hushed. Reincarnation was a taboo subject, given how it could be abused if given some thought. “and everyone went through the same ceremony, be they a peasant or an Empress. It was believed that if it wasn't completed…”

“What reason would there be for the ceremony not to be completed?” Minghao asked. There was something at his neck that whispered, telling him not to search for an answer. 

“If one of them died,” Junhui said, clearing his throat. “nothing else could’ve prevented it. The ceremony was known to be completed even as someone lay dying, monks called to their deathbed, for if a person died without the ceremony being completed.… ”

“What would happen then?”

The door to the coffee shop opened, and a rush of humid air burst towards them. It touched Minghao’s skin, and left a chill.

“Junhui?”

 

_1387, Yingtian_

 

The next few days weren't normal, but Minghao attempted it. The next few days weren't normal, but Minghao tried. He had told Junhui he needed time, needed the right moment to tell his father. Time was pressing on, but, like always, Junhui would go along with whatever Minghao wanted. It was rather foolish on Junhui’s part, but Minghao didn't complain.

He spent his time as normal, doing what his father had assigned him, deep in the reference libraries of the Ministry. Many of the laws from previous dynasties had been passed on to the new Empire, and there were documents that Minghao found that he was scared to touch, lest they dissolve in his hands from how old they were. But Minghao found what he was looking for.  

On the morning that Minghao had chosen would be best to tell his father, he ensured everything was in place. He had read up on all that he could, and he was ready. Thunder was rumbling in the distance, but Minghao scarcely noticed, buried so deep, so far into the library. 

Underneath all the information rattling through his head, Junhui’s presence was stifling. Part of Minghao’s consciousness was dedicated solely to reminding Minghao of Junhui’s existence. It was conflicting at any other time, but right now was serving as a motivator. The heady weight clung to Minghao, the heat and humidity choking him, the memory of Junhui’s profile burning every time Minghao blinked. It was a wonder Minghao could get anything done at any time, so overwhelming it all was. But this task was aided by the fact that Junhui remained in everything Minghao did, so much it was dizzying.

For so long, Minghao had felt so tight. As though Junhui’s being had been absorbed into Minghao’s own body. Minghao wasn't big enough to hold the both of them. But now, now Junhui loved him. Now Minghao knew that. And it was as though part of Minghao was taken into Junhui, and there was enough space, both of their beings shared between the two of them.

His stupor was so thick, he jumped, almost letting out a yell when Junhui placed his hand on Minghao’s shoulder, alerting him to the other's presence.

Immediately though, Minghao relaxed under Junhui’s touch. There was no danger here. Minghao turned around, the sight of Junhui tightening Minghao’s throat like it always did. He was smiling at Minghao, sad in the slightest way, but his eyes bright and his touch steady.

“Are you ready?” Junhui asked by way of greeting, and Minghao only managed to nod, scared his voice would betray him. Junhui seemed to understand, and stepped forward, boldly wrapping his arms around Minghao, embracing him in the knowledge that they would not be disturbed. Minghao let himself revel in the touch, the safety and warmth enticing as Minghao leant his head down on Junhui’s shoulders, breathing him in.

“We ought to go,” Minghao said after a while, not raising his head from where it rested on Junhui. “my father needs to be in as good a mood as possible. You know how much he hates it when I’m late.”

“I do, as I have to deal with his complaints once you leave,” Junhui retorted, bringing a hand up to carve through Minghao’s hair, laughing slightly as Minghao made his indignant feelings known. “we mustn't delay this any longer.”

Minghao straightened, his scalp tingling with the lack of contact, dread itching into his stomach and his skin tightening with the anticipation of what was to come. Junhui led the way out of the library, not trusting Minghao with being able to find his way through the Ministry. Minghao remained a step behind, letting himself feel the warmth of proximity but remaining distant enough that his urges wouldn’t overwhelm him.

The details of the next few days ran over and over in Minghao’s head, so caught up in it that Minghao was unaware that they had reached the door to his father's office. The guards that stood sentry outside barely spared them a glance, and Junhui turned to Minghao, his expression calm but his eyes soft. Minghao knew he need only say the word, need only glance at Junhui with a look in his eyes, and Junhui would turn around and they’d leave.

“Are you ready?”

“No,” Minghao replied, raising his hand and knocking on the door.

 

It went well. His father had laughed, jovial but quiet, had said that he couldn't have hoped for anyone better. The children of the Emperor were likely to be selfish partners anyway. But after a moment, the circumstances caught up with Minghao’s father, and his laughter choked.

“My son,” he had said, and the words still repeated through Minghao’s head. His father had never seemed more vulnerable than he had then. “my dear boy, I’m so sorry.”

Minghao hadn't expected anything else. Perhaps the tiniest part of him had hoped his father knew something he didn’t, that upon hearing the news he’d declare Junhui free from the army, and let them live, together. But the rest of Minghao knew this wasn't to be.

Immediately his father had begun planning, calling in a guard to fetch a messenger, to send word to the monks of the situation. He said he would be the one to tell Minghao’s mother, to deal with her outcry at having such scarce time to plan for the reincarnation ceremony of their dearest son. It was the least he could do, Minghao’s father had said. Junhui remained quiet throughout it, barely speaking and only answering any questions that the Minister asked him. 

Before they left, Minghao bowed low, bent at the waist. When he straightened, he saw Junhui remained bowed, having sank to the ground, on his knees and forehead pressed against the cool wooden floor, arms stretched in front of him towards Minghao’s father.

Minghao’s father had smiled, and Minghao thought he might cry.

 

Junhui had no more work till he left for one of the training camps in the Northern provinces. Minghao’s father was consumed with news of failed battles and rerouting grain transport, and had unloaded Junhui’s tasks onto various other underlings and scholars. It was the least he could do, he’d said.

So Junhui sat in the pavilion with Minghao, guilt free. Not that the guilt would've stopped them before. They’d come here often, in the few days that had passed between their conversation and today. The thunder continued to rumble around them, but had yet to break. The air was warm but the plants in the garden shook under the wind, in anticipation it seemed.

 

“Are you afraid?” Junhui asked, not touching Minghao yet but growing close to it.

“Not for myself,” Minghao said, and it was the truth. He was unable to look at Junhui at the moment, his body shaking as he inhaled, trying to draw up the strength to tell Junhui what he must.

“If I don’t come back you have to promise,” Junhui said, his words slow and stammering. Minghao would refute the words that came out of Junhui’s mouth, but let him speak anyway. If only to have more material with which to cling to the memory of Junhui’s voice. “that you’ll live on. That you’ll continue on the path laid to you.”

“I’ll promise no such thing,” and such an outright denial had Junhui blinking rapidly. It was the truth though, and Minghao couldn't lie to Junhui. Not anymore. “you are all that there is to me.”

“Don’t say such things,” Junhui said, soft, the underlying anger in his words only barely seeping through. Fear was there too. 

“I won’t let such a thing happen.”

“Minghao, there is a chance I won’t come back-“

“Not if you don’t leave.” 

Junhui took a moment to reply, and thunder rolled over them in the time that passed.

“What do you mean Minghao?”

“I have a plan,” was all that Minghao said, his tone not suggesting a desire to elaborate as he rearranged his robes that lay out beneath him. “you didn't expect me to let you leave? To not have a way of getting what I want? You know me so well Junhui, you would be more surprised if I hadn't found a way of getting us out of this.”

“Minghao please,” Junhui said, and for the first time, the cold fringes of fear made themselves known to Minghao. “you can’t interfere.”

“I won't interfere with you,” Minghao said, resisting an inherent urge to roll his eyes. “I would never put you in danger in such a way.”

“Then what do you mean?” 

 

“I need you to know that you can’t stop this.” Minghao said, but the way that Junhui’s face fell was almost enough to make Minghao’s voice catch. But he kept speaking. “All of this time in the library and encouraging me to pursue my own interests has never been useless. The laws that have carried over the dynasties are valid still, however little known they may be.”

“What laws Minghao?” Junhui asked, his words holding no air in them.

“We told father today,” Minghao said, keeping steady in the way that he’d practiced, having run through his speech over and over. He blocked Junhui out as best as he could, but the ashen look on Junhui’s face still crept into Minghao’s peripheral vision. “we have evidence that we only just found out we were soulmates. We told him as such. By now, he will have filed it. Documental evidence of when we found out, when we both ceased ageing, and when we made it known.”

“Minghao-“

“And in a few days, the reincarnation ceremony will be complete, and the process will finish. With anyone else in our situation, the ceremony would occur almost immediately after all documentation is filed, but knowing my mother, and knowing yours, our ceremony will surely not be finalised for a few days.”

“Minghao please…”

“I've read up on the law. Every chapter, every clause, every interpretation. If something were to happen to one of us in-between the period of documentation registry and the reincarnation ceremony, there are reactionary measures in place.”

“Minghao, darling, please let me speak-"

“The surviving partner will be protected under law. The presentation to the Gods will be incomplete, the couple will not reincarnate together, and the bond that was gifted by the Gods will be broken. Due to the recent occurrence of ageing beginning again, the survivor will revert to the state of not ageing. All measures will be taken to keep the survivor alive, under both civilian and martial law. This will allow the surviving member to stay alive until they encounter the reincarnated form of the deceased partner. The couple can then live out the rest of their lives together as though no time had passed.”

“I don’t understand,” Junhui said, reaching forward to grab Minghao’s hands. “Minghao, my dearest, please, stop this, talk to me, look at me, please, my love-“

“Don’t you see?” Minghao said, frantic almost, knowing his grip was too tight on Junhui’s fingers but unable to loosen them. “If one of us dies before the presentation to the Gods, the other will go back to not ageing, and the government has to keep you alive, so we can meet again. So we can be presented again, and be under the blessing of the Gods.”

“What do you mean me, the government keeping me alive?”

“They can’t send you to war,” Minghao said, gleeful and giddy on top of the crushing fear. “they can’t even let you travel outside the Capital without an escort. You’re exempt from the draft, from any kind of threat of death. They fear retribution from the Gods, if they let a person who has met their fated one die without the Gods having acknowledged the couple.”

“That’s ridiculous, if that were true they couldn't uphold it, Minghao I know you’re terrified but you mustn’t be so reckless…”

“It’s little known, and ignored in most cases,” Minghao said. He was desperate, he had to get Junhui to understand, to see. “but we are not most cases. Afterwards, father will likely delay your leaving, giving enough time for someone to find the document I placed in his office-”

“Minghao,” Junhui said, and finally Minghao couldn't keep rambling, had to let Junhui speak. “what do you mean by afterwards?”

“Junhui, don’t insult yourself,” Minghao said, trying to keep detached in his tone but knowing Junhui saw his shaking hands, his tearful eyes. “you’re intelligent. You know what I mean. What I’ve decided.”

“You’ve decided nothing, Minghao you can’t just imply these things without speaking to me first…”

“I’m not implying anything Junhui,” Minghao said, trying to force bite into his tone but only managing desperation. “I made this decision, I’m going to go through with it, and you will do nothing but let the law act as it should.”

“You can’t do this, you can’t leave me so helpless, you can’t leave me.” Junhui said, drawing Minghao’s hands into his chest and pressing them to above his heart. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Minghao said, feeling so much older than Junhui in that moment. “I’ll come back. Twenty years, give or take.”

“But you won’t be you,” Junhui said, pulling their joined hands up and pressing their locked fingers to his lips. His voice was shaking uncontrollably, and Minghao would think he was near hysterics if his eyes didn't remain so clear. “you won't be you.”

“Maybe the Gods will be benevolent, and give them my face,” Minghao said. Junhui started to laugh but his eyes grew bright, and tears began to make their first tracks down his face.

“I will not love anyone who isn't you. I refuse.”

“You’ve not even met them yet,” Minghao said, intending to joke but his voice cracking midway through the sentence. 

Junhui dropped his head, doubled over, face buried in Minghao’s stomach, shoulders shaking and Minghao’s hands positioned in his hair.

“I won’t let you,” Junhui said, muffled through the fabric and thick through the tears. “I’ll be so angry in a moment. I’ll lock you up, I’ll tell your father, I’ll tell the Emperor.”

Minghao didn't have the strength to reply, only brought Junhui closer to him. 

“I won’t let you. You won’t. Not like this, not now, not when it’s uncertain, I’ll come back, you’re always so dramatic, I won’t let you. Not now, not when I love you this much, I won’t. I won’t.”

He let Junhui talk, let him tire himself out. When he regained his senses and the shock wore off, he’d be angry, so angry. Minghao wouldn’t let him get that far. The rain started up again, slipping down the roof of the pavilion, the plants in the garden rising up to meet it. It bounced off the water in the lily pond, hitting up off of it before falling back in, each raindrop unable to stop itself from returning. Minghao had always liked the rain. He thought he might like to die as it rained.

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

Jun was strong, Minghao learnt, as he watched the other man. He had placed his hand over the top of his teacup, letting the steam hit his palm, his face contemplative, as though he was trying to think of where they ought to go next. He was lovely, soft light hitting his cheekbones, mouth curving outward and lashes curling down. Junhui’s jaw was clenched as though he was trying to hold something within himself, but for almost the first time that evening, there seemed to be no emotions betrayed on his face. As though Jun had spent a long time trying to keep the memories of this particular event from affecting him.

“Jun,” Minghao said, voice low and soft, Minghao not wanting to betray anything that he felt. Minghao could deal with his feelings on this matter later, but right now everything was falling into place, and he felt sick. But if this was how Minghao felt, then Jun…

“Junhui,” Minghao said, Jun still not looking up, his breathing deliberate. Minghao reached over, placing his hand on top of Jun’s, trying not to flinch when he found it to be like ice. “Wen Junhui. Look at me.”

Jun did look up, and a smile grew across his face as Minghao spoke.

“The war, why would you not have returned? Was there no hope that you would've been safe?”

“I should have arrived by the new moon, at the training camp further North. A week after when I would have arrived, the camp was ambushed and every man slaughtered.”

“So I was right. It saved you.”

“Don’t say that Minghao.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I never told you my surname,” Jun said, and his eyes were bright, with happiness as they seemed to fill with tears. “you called me Wen Junhui, I haven’t yet told you my full name.”

“Did I get it wrong?” Minghao asked, apprehension beginning to rise, already trying to prepare a response. 

“No. You’re right. You remembered.”

 

_1387, Yingtian_

 

The vial had been on a chain, and Minghao wondered if that was one of the reasons it had been so expensive. The vial itself was coloured glass, and had flickered in the candlelight of the apothecary’s shop. Minghao had considered going in the dead of night, but found that going in the early evening, when the streets were packed and faces unremembered, was far more efficient. His greatest fear, after being caught, was the apothecary questioning Minghao’s desire for the strongest poison that was available. But she said nothing, only brought out various substances in variously sized bottles, slowly explaining the properties and features of each one. Minghao had handed over the money in exchange for the purple vial, and found her hands to be warm as her fingers brushed his. She met his eyes and Minghao could only hold her gaze for a moment, and knew she was still watching him as he left the shop.

It sat cold around his neck, next to a locket that held a lock of Junhui’s hair, gifted in the past few days for when Junhui left, and Minghao let the city wash over him as he’d walked home. The faces of the citizens of the capital had long ago begun to look the same, and Minghao felt more wistful at the knowledge he'd never again see the plum blossoms blooming over the river, than the fact he would never again let himself lose at mahjong to placate his grandmother. But in the next life, Minghao would see plum blossoms, even if his grandmother had passed. 

His grandmother would be irritated if she knew what he was doing. She’d likely never be told the truth about how he died. None of them would. If all went to plan, none of them would know. It ought to present itself like a quick acting illness. His mother would sigh over his foolishness, and go back to ordering a gardener to be whipped for not pruning the magnolias early enough. His father would allow sadness to curl over him for a moment, at the loss of his favoured son, but would push it out of his heart to deal with matters of war. His sisters would lament, his brothers would fume, but they would soon be overcome with other matters of social standing and their own hearts. His extended family would scarcely register it, and his childhood friends would sigh, trying and failing to remember the last time they’d seen one another. 

But Minghao’s cousin, his dear cousin who had defended him from callous aunties and had walked the hallways of childhood with him, she would know. If his father had called it an illness, an assassination, raw food, or a strain of virus, she would know. And then, Minghao hoped, she would not be sad. Minghao was not sad.  

And Junhui- he’d understand. 

 

He’d taken the full vial in the mid-afternoon. Junhui was sitting with the war council since before daybreak, to fully be briefed before he left for the North tomorrow evening, after their presentation to the Gods. After lighting the candles in his bedroom, Minghao began to walk up towards the Ministry. His pace was not as leisurely as it normally was, for Minghao would sooner live than collapse in the street, surrounded by palace guards and street merchants. But Minghao only began to feel the slightest bit lightheaded as he passed the gates, his breath only catching as he grabbed the arm of a passing servant girl, asking her to send a message to Master Wen with haste, to meet Master Xu in the gardens on a matter of utmost urgency.

Minghao didn't make it very far. The poison picked up very quickly after that. He became too tired to walk further, and he decided it would be a very good idea to sit down on one of the bridges, his back leant against the wall, his head against the cold stone and listening to the water passing beneath him. The rain had begun as soon as Minghao left the house, but it was only now that Minghao was sat with everything in place, nothing left to fear, that he could enjoy it. The air was hot and crushing, but the rain was soft and cool, and slid over his cheekbones like Junhui’s perpetually cold fingers would do, had he been here.

He would have very much liked for Junhui to be with him as he passed. It was only now, when there was no going back, that the slightest edge of fear began to melt into Minghao’s veins. The fear was of not seeing Junhui again, and that both meant before and after his death. He had hoped that he could die with Junhui’s image in his eyes, but thinking of it now, Minghao always had Junhui’s image in mind. Again, there was the fear that Minghao would find himself in the next life with Junhui not having remained, having died and Minghao having to wait for the next incarnate, but even having Junhui in essence was better than living with no form of his lover at all.

Briefly, the thought that Junhui wouldn't love the next incarnate of Minghao was one that crossed Minghao’s mind. But again, Minghao would be content with that. That would at least mean Junhui was living. 

The day had grown darker, and Minghao could no longer separate how much of that came from the passing of time or the loss of his life. He began to accept the idea that Junhui would not come, and began to feel very sorry for whatever poor servant would come across the corpse of the Minister’s son. 

Minghao shifted his hands, fingers curling around the solid metal of the ring that he hadn't removed since the day Junhui had gifted it to him. Perhaps it hastened the loss of life, as the shakiness and exertion of the action left Minghao exhausted. But the ring was removed, and Minghao dropped his head to look at it, held it tight in his fist as his eyes fell closed. The curves in the jade were as familiar as the lines in Junhui’s palm, and as Minghao ran his thumb over the ring, he allowed his mind’s eye to remember each edge of Junhui’s face.

 

It was the image of Junhui’s smile that was shaken from Minghao’s mind as he heard shouting. His eyes scarcely opened, and his vision was hazy with both rain and imminent loss of life. But he could hear, could hear Junhui running. The stone grew slick with rain, and Minghao tried to open his mouth, to call out to Junhui to slow down, lest he slip and break his neck, leaving all of Minghao’s efforts for naught. 

But as soon as Minghao registered Junhui’s entrance, he was there. Minghao’s eyes had lost strength, but he felt himself being lifted, pulled into Junhui’s arms, held tight and enveloped in Junhui’s presence. Junhui’s heart beat so fast, almost as if to compensate for Minghao’s own slowing heart. Junhui was speaking, and Minghao fought to hear his words, but the blood was so quick in Minghao’s ears and the rain fell so hard, Minghao only managed to reach up for Junhui’s hands. 

The skin of Junhui’s hands seemed to burn, and the cold of the ring was passed to Junhui as Minghao pressed the object into Junhui’s palm. Everything was aligned now. Junhui was here, and joy was equally rising in Minghao’s chest as the blood was rising in Minghao’s lungs, choking him. The ring was back in Junhui’s possession, and if he so desired, it could keep him company, whilst he waited the few years it would take for Minghao to return to him. And now, all that could possibly bring Minghao more peace, would be to hear what Junhui was saying, was crying as he clawed at Minghao’s chest.

 

——————————————————————————

 

Minghao never heard what Junhui said. The blood choked his throat and the light left his eyes, the rain washing away all sound that Junhui made as he pounded at the stone till his fingers broke, screamed until his throat was raw, and cried until he collapsed. That’s how a scholar found them, both unconscious and covered in blood, but Master Wen shaking and Master Xu deadly still.

But even before Xu Minghao burst into tears on a school trip to the Forbidden City and wouldn't calm down, the shame of being sixteen years old and shaking with sobs not being enough of a deterrent to ease the aching sadness that came from seeing the artefacts, even before Xu Minghao sketched the first drawing of a wrist in the margin of his physics textbook, even before Xu Minghao had asked his mother what a soulmate was, Minghao had dreams.

It came in different ways. Even the most generic dream, where Minghao was flying over the city or falling off a cliff or hadn't studied for a history exam, they could be stopped. Could be interrupted with quiet, with flashes of images and a voice speaking over them all.

_I’ll find you, I promise. No matter what, I’ll still be here, waiting. Not even the Gods will take me away from you._

 

——————————————————————————

 

In the heavens, we shall be birds flying side by side, and on the earth, we shall be twinned trunks flowering on the same branch.

 

——————————————————————————

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

Jun didn't speak for a bit. The long breaks of silence that had punctuated the entire conversation had begun to build up, and the sky was completely dark outside. The cafe remained open though, like the rest of Seoul that refused to stop simply because the daylight did. The baristas had changed shifts, but the previous workers must have briefed the newcomers on the odd men sitting in the corner, as the tea kept coming. 

It was the ringing out of the teapot being set on the table that seemed to bring Junhui back to Minghao’s side. Jun’s eyes followed the tea as it poured into the cup, and finally, they dragged themselves to look at Minghao. 

“And what have you been doing since?” Minghao asked, desperate to get the look Junhui wore off of his face, and to satiate the lingering curiosity.

“Waiting for you,” Jun said with a laugh that held not a single trace of humour, and Minghao felt claws wrap around his heart. “and a few other things, here and there. That’s a conversation for another day. It’s been an awfully long time.”

“Yes, I suppose it has.” Minghao mused, but his mind was almost burning, trying to fathom the things Junhui had lived through, had seen, the places he’d been and people he’d have met. The people he’d have lost.

“After the shock wore off, I was angry for maybe an hour or so, if anger can even describe it. It came back, but never for long.”

“What did you feel most of the time?”

“I can’t label it,” Jun said, his hand on top of the table edging just the slightest bit closer to Minghao. “but know that I’d sooner never see you again than have you feel the same way as I have.”

Minghao took Junhui’s hand.

 

_After_

 

His brother had petitioned for months to allow Junhui passage back to their family home in the South. The journey took far longer than it should, due to the sheer size of the escort, mainly consisting of armed guards, who slept in shifts to ensure Junhui was never left unattended. It was excessive, this Junhui knew, but who was he to deny an old man what little comfort he could find? Minister Xu - Minghao’s father - had put all measures in place to ensure no harm could come to Junhui, going above and beyond what someone not stricken by grief would deem appropriate. It had been almost a year now, and still nothing was allowed to pass Junhui’s lips without first having been tasted by a servant, lest he was poisoned. The gossip mills of the Capital still whispered of poisonings, of an assassination, and had yet to be quelled fully. 

But Junhui did not care much for where he was. He sat in silence, as he was carried in a palanquin to the far South, as he waited for his water to be tested before it could reach him, as a guard stood at the foot of his bed and watched over him at night. Now at least, the guards stayed outside Junhui’s sleeping quarters. The Southern provinces were peaceful now. No harm would come to Junhui here. Nothing would prevent him from being together with Minghao once again.

 

The bamboo forest outside his chambers creaked, the rush of wind surrounding Junhui as he lay awake. He scarcely slept, only lay staring at the canopy of his bed. If he looked at his hands, he could imagine they still remained soaked in blood, the darkness twisting into visions before him, contorting and tangling as Junhui stared. If he closed his eyes, he would see Minghao’s face pressed against his eyelids, glowing, trembling, filling his sight. If he closed his eyes, he feared he would cry. His hand would clutch the ring he wore, his eyes would dry out, and sleep would not take him. 

Junhui wasn't angry yet. He presumed it would come soon enough. He hoped it would pass before Minghao returned to him. For now, Junhui scarcely felt anything. Almost felt nothing at all. The ghostly memory of blood on his hands, of the weight of Minghao’s body in his arms, of Minghao’s hair pressed against his nose, the coldness of his skin. The rain dripping down his neck. But his heart, Junhui’s heart felt nothing. As though it no longer beat.

 

When Minghao’s father died, the duty of Junhui’s care passed to the next War Minister. It was in battle, like the Minister had always wanted, but it meant no specific instructions were left regarding Junhui. Within a few months of the appointment, a messenger came to Junhui’s familial home, granting permission to travel within the province, so long as an escort accompanied him. This extended further and further as each Minister took over the last, until the messengers stopped coming, and no one checked up on Junhui anymore. 

 

Almost a hundred years had passed when Junhui first let it happen. In a courtesan house, surrounded by his great-nephews who still felt like brothers, Junhui let it happen. With his eyes hazed and the candlelight low, Junhui took hands that were almost as thin as Minghao’s had been, almost as cold as his always were, and let it happen. He cast the courtesan out afterwards, sitting in an unfamiliar bed, not asking for Minghao’s forgiveness, as Minghao would understand. Junhui dressed, slipped off the bed, dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the cool wood. The strains of music still called through the door, but Junhui closed his eyes. He prayed for the Gods to grant him forgiveness. Prayed that they would grant him Minghao.

It happened more frequently. It began to happen most nights. And each night, Junhui would leave, or would make the other party leave, and drop to the floor. Each night he asked for forgiveness.

 

Junhui began to establish a place for himself. His raw chest began to be draped in silks and furs, his bleeding throat hidden behind a smile and steady words. His money had accumulated over the years, his place in society elusive but still present, and Junhui kept moving. He met fellow travellers; those who had yet to find their fated ones, and those who had lost them and, like Junhui, were waiting for the forgiveness of the Gods.

Each place granted Junhui both new friends and new lovers, distractions abundant in those who did not ask questions. Junhui was distracted thoroughly, with learning and reading, scholarly pursuits that Minghao would've been proud of. He grew his fortunes, he travelled widely, he revelled and danced and never stopped talking. But without even thinking, with no consciousness, he scanned each face he saw. By the Gods, he hoped he would know, hoped that the second he laid eyes on Minghao once again that he would know. 

But there was a difference between not being desolate, and being happy. As the years grew more and more, Junhui felt hope fade. The periods of anger and passion that arrived every so often continued to lessen, until all that was left were remnants of the initial bleakness that had presented itself in the first months of Minghao’s passing. And the thoughts Junhui had of joining Minghao began to grow more and more frequent. 

He became more foolish, reckless even, smoking and injecting and going days without eating. It was only the return of stability to his life, the presence of steady friends that kept him from going through with ending his life right then. Junhui would at least wait until his friends resumed ageing to do anything drastic. It would be cruel to do anything before then.

But then Junhui’s longest friend returned. Kim Mingyu had been in stasis almost as long as Junhui had, but for reasons of a more violent and tragic nature. More exciting, perhaps. And when he finally began to conclude his life, Junhui felt exhausted. Resigned to the idea that Minghao was gone. Faced up to the knowledge that he had been talking himself out of it for centuries, what should have happened long ago. That the only way for Minghao to return was for Junhui to die.

Let them start again, allow the two of them the chance to be reunited once more, in new bodies, new existences free from all that Minghao had done, and all that Junhui had done. That they both had done, together and apart.

For so many years, Junhui had prayed for forgiveness. Had begged for it. Had spent so much time and wealth tracking his soulmate, finding a new shaman each time the last had failed in finding a trace, a shift, the tiniest amount of evidence that Minghao’s soul had even existed. Perhaps, this was their forgiveness. To let Junhui’s oldest friend find solace, so Junhui left nothing unfinished on this earth. Left nothing but the boxes under his bed filled with memories, and the ring he’d worn for six hundred years.

 

_2017, Seoul_

 

The coffee shop emptied as it grew late, becoming quiet. The murmur of voices was barely a hum, and the whistles of steam from the machines were harsh in comparison. Minghao only realised now that there was music playing in the cafe, nothing extraordinary but enough to highlight the silence between the two of them.

“Were you going to go through with it?” Minghao said, not concealing the tremor in his voice or in his hands that Junhui could surely feel with how tightly they clutched one another.

“In November,” Jun said far too casually, and Minghao felt acid burning in his chest. “although this is one of many, many times that I’ve intended to go through with it. Each previous time has been stopped in some manner, and maybe this one would've been too. We won’t find out now.”

“Why November?” Minghao replied, trying to copy Junhui’s blasé tone and utterly failing. November was less than six months away, and Minghao felt ill.

“I was waiting till it’d been six hundred and fifty years. Since you’d been born. I first saw you the year you were born, and I first spoke to you just after my eighteenth birthday, on the fifth of June. Fifth day of the six month. Six hundred and fifty years after your birth. I thought it made sense.”

“That’s so complicated,” Minghao said, smiling but knowing it was causing his eyes to water. 

“I’ve always thought there was a divinity in numbers.” Junhui said, huffing slightly but beginning to smile too, “I used a calculator and everything. Horrendously difficult to figure it all out.”

 

“Was the fact that you’re horribly dramatic partly my influence, or is this something you developed in my absence?”

“I couldn’t tell you, but you carried a lock of my hair with you the day you died. We buried you with it. So perhaps we’ve been as bad as each other in all of this.”

Minghao paused. He hadn't thought about where he’d been buried. Whether he’d still have a grave. He opened his mouth to ask, but Junhui was blinking rapidly as though trying to prevent himself from crying, and Minghao thought it best to save this particular query for another evening.

“Was your hair long?” Minghao asked instead, opting for a lighter topic but still one he was curious about. The image of Junhui with long hair was vaguely amusing, but what was not amusing was how easily Minghao’s mind supplied the images, loose down his back, curling past his collarbones, glowing in candlelight. The question of whether these were from memories or dreams crossed Minghao’s mind but now, it appeared, there was no difference between a memory or a dream.

“Rather,” Junhui said, now smiling again, perfectly aware of Minghao’s shifting of the subject but allowing him to do so anyway. “I cut it all off in a drunken rage, and it’s stayed like this since. Although now I suppose, I can grow it long again. If you’d like.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Minghao said, reaching forward and running a hand through Jun’s hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers and fall back into Jun’s grinning eyes. “and me, do you think I should grow mine?”

“If it would please you,” Junhui said contemplatively, taking Minghao’s hand again. 

“Would it make you feel odd, if I looked…similar to the way that I did?”

“Apart from the length of your hair, there is not a single difference,” Junhui said, running a finger over the scar on Minghao’s thumb that came from pouring boiling hot tea over it when he was seventeen. “nothing at all.”

“What if you hadn't recognised me?” Minghao asked, the realisation of the randomness of their encounter hitting him suddenly. If he hadn't stopped to stack up the chairs for Dahyun, had taken a later train, walked up the stairs a little bit faster and missed walking straight into Junhui, what would have happened? “If I hadn't walked straight into you, we wouldn't have met at all.”

“We would’ve, just maybe a bit later. Perhaps tomorrow. Or next week, or the week after that. Maybe we were meant to meet months ago, but you woke up late or spilled coffee on your shirt. But nothing is a coincidence Minghao.”

“Then, was this all intended? Each detail?"

“Every single one,” Junhui said, his finger running over the scar on Minghao’s thumb again. “I may be jumping ahead, but I find it reasonable to assume that the reason you have finally appeared to me, after all this time, was no coincidence either.”

“Why?”

“Because even though I’ve considered ending this existence for centuries, I feel as though I would've gone through with it this time. I suppose, after being allowed to meddle in our fates in the past, it was decided that I couldn't do so a second time. So they brought you to me, finally, in a way that I could've scarcely even have hoped for."

“How can I be all that you hoped for?” Minghao asked, ducking his head, grip tight on Jun’s fingers and shoulder pressing against his, his arm practically shaking at the contact.

“You look like you do,” Junhui said, eyes scanning over Minghao. “it was never a requirement, nor something I asked for, but it is rather comforting. I hope to get to know you better, but from this interaction you seem as though you behave as you did. A benefit in itself, as I may know you so well. You do appear to have some memories, which is pleasant, and whilst you may be angry soon, right now you are not. And you are understanding, and not in love with anyone else.”

“How could I have been in love with anyone else?”

“I have had a very long time to worry about many different things, Minghao.”

“I hope this isn't distressing for you,” Minghao said, tracing his finger along the edge of the table. “having lived for so long, the knowledge that you’re ageing again might be a little overwhelming.”

“I have some affairs that will need arranged, that is true,” Junhui said, grinning now, unabashed in his expression. “but I have never felt so many things as I do now. I have done nothing but sit in a cafe with you Minghao, but I daresay I have been happier in these past few hours than I have been for all the past six hundred years put together.”

Minghao didn't know what to say to that, only smiled, ducking his head to hide his heating face, which in itself was a foreign feeling, after the few years he had ceased ageing. The weight of expectations was a little unsettling, knowing that Jun had waited so long for Minghao, had felt so many things, whereas Minghao had none of the abiding feelings that Jun did.

But as Minghao glanced out of the corner of his eye, and let his eyes drift over the shadow in Junhui’s cheekbone, enough of a feeling blossomed in Minghao’s chest for him to realise that he was not entirely without hopes too, not entirely without a lingering awareness of feelings for Junhui that ran far deeper than a few hours could have hoped to produce.

“You’re thinking too much,” Junhui said, ending Minghao’s line of thought. “I have upset you.”

“Not at all,” Minghao said, more fierce than would have been warranted, but caused Jun to laugh slightly. “I only think of where we are to go now.”

“A weighted thought,” Junhui said, leaning into Minghao’s side. “if you would believe it, an old friend of mine was in a similar situation to ours. He recently has been returned to his intended, after far too long. From what I have seen, they went on as though nothing was unusual about the two of them. As though they were a perfectly ordinary pair, both born of this time and enjoying going to the cinema and eating pizza together.”

“Somehow you strike me as someone who wouldn't care for being ordinary.”

“Yes,” Junhui said, Minghao feeling his muscles tightening as he laughed. “I suppose you’re right. But going to the cinema with you doesn't seem so horrible. Mingyu has a hidden flair for the dramatic, but settling down seems to have done him well.”

“Mingyu?” Minghao asked, unable to help how his mind flickered to the only Mingyu he knew, who he’d seen not only a few hours ago with his adoring boyfriend in the coffee shop. It felt like an age. Minghao wasn't yet familiar with Korean names, so perhaps it was one that was common.

“Yes, he is my dearest friend, although I had gone almost a century without seeing him until a few months ago.” Junhui carried on, leaning forward to raise his cup to his lips. “We only reconnected through mutual friends. Or rather, my closest friend of this age turned out to be his intended.”

“Another coincidence?” Minghao said, teasing in his tone, but weight behind his words. “Have the Gods been feeling particularly benevolent these past few months?”

“They must have been. It would've taken all of them to finally sort out Mingyu’s mess.”

“But have you settled well? Do you have many friends or do you live as a recluse, maximising your brooding appearance?”

“I’m a social butterfly,” Junhui said, placing a hand on his chest in mock horror. “although less so in recent years. I would say I’m excited for you to meet my friends, but they’re rather intense. Perhaps we can do it in stages.”

“We have plenty of time,” Minghao sighed, turning where he sat to lean his face into Junhui’s neck, finally letting the whole exhausting situation catch up with him. 

“That we do,” Junhui said, bringing a hand up to card through Minghao’s hair, the metal of the ring he wore cool against Minghao’s scalp.

 

Minghao turned his head so it was settled in the crook of Junhui’s shoulder, facing out across towards the cafe, his eyes settling on the table in front of him. In all the emotion, Minghao hadn’t taken the time to look upon the chinaware. Not that it was something he would normally do, but in the calm state that fell upon him as his chest rose alongside Junhui’s, his eyes travelled over the teapot in front of them.

It was white, with a delicate blue pattern of swirling flowers and animals. The side that faced him showed a branch, twisting out to curve around the teapot. It was barely flowered, only a few buds along the branch, delicate and thin in their strokes. Upon the branch sat two birds, back to back but heads turned to face one another. The spout was chipped and the paint was faded, but Minghao found he liked the pattern. 

Perhaps if he and Junhui ever lived together, they could get a teapot like that one. He'd have to learn how Jun took his tea, since he seemed to like it so much. Minghao had always been more fond of coffee, but he supposed he could grow to like tea. Maybe it was looking too far ahead, to think about the plates that he and Junhui could buy. But the weight of Junhui’s presence was so solid, so abundant, that Minghao couldn't fathom the idea that their lives would turn out any other way. Junhui was surrounding every point of Minghao’s being that he was almost lightheaded, and he shifted even closer into Junhui to ground himself. 

No, Minghao couldn't see their lives turning out any other way. He wouldn’t let it turn out any other way, and Junhui could be certain this time around that Minghao would get his way. He supposed he had, in a way. For all the suffering Junhui had been through, Minghao would make sure he was happy. Would do everything to ensure that they would remain together, and that Junhui would never again feel in such a way that he had. It may take the rest of their lives, but Minghao knew even now, in the warm cafe with the rain lashing outside, that all would turn out okay.

Besides, there was no need to rush anything. They had plenty of time. 

 

_在天愿作比翼鸟,在地愿为连理枝 - In the heavens, we shall be birds flying side by side, and on the earth, we shall be twinned trunks flowering on the same branch._

 

edit 20/05/18

okay so [someone ](https://yoonjinnie23.tumblr.com)[wonderful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreciousNonsense/pseuds/PreciousNonsense) made these actual masterpieces?? for my fic??? im so emotional go follow n love n cry just like i do whenever i see them <333

**Author's Note:**

> there we go?? wowcher. sorry it was so late, school is A Lot and mental health is a bitch. if stuff is still unclear just ask!! i'm so sorry this piece of shit took so long, i hope it was semi-worth it. thank u for reading <33


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